


To The End And Back

by SprungSick



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Detachment, Dissociation, Doctor please its my comfort concept, Fashion-blind Tommy, Gen, Hardcore, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, If you can't hug your friends without it being romantic that's low-key messed up, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Minecraft, Minor much??, No relationships ew, No respawns, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Beta Read, Not me remaking the End so I can make Tommy suffer, Platonic Hand Holding, Reading stuff through goes against my morals, Realistic Minecraft, Tommy absolutely will swear, Tommy loves his friends, Touch is a love-language damnit-, bamf tommy, i mean that's a given, im sorry i had to do it, tags will be updated as I continue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SprungSick/pseuds/SprungSick
Summary: TommyInnit was very, very far from home. After a series of unfortunate events, he found himself stuck in an unknown land with no directions back to where he started.He had to get back.And well, the End was a thing.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Floris | Fundy & TommyInnit, No Romantic Relationship(s), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 202
Kudos: 660





	1. We're Here, Then We're Not

**Author's Note:**

> Woo, this idea came to me, strangled me, and refused to let go until I wrote it down. It's probably incoherent, oops. In the end, all of the SMP will be featured, but it will mostly be me making Tommy struggle because I like to watch the world burn. 
> 
> For some context of how Minecraft works in this:  
> Respawning isn't a thing. If someone dies, they die for good.  
> A lot of real-world ideas apply here, meaning that doing tasks is physically taxing and some physics apply. Peeps also gotta sleep.  
> Scouting, exploring, and fighting is very dangerous. In general, things are more dangerous and risky.  
> When a settlement is made, the heart of the settlement is called the 'spawn'  
> I kind of imagine this to be set in a post-apocalyptic Minecraft, meaning that there are a lot fewer people that are all very spread out.  
> I mean, it's still Minecraft, it's just a bit of history yannow 
> 
> There is no shipping in this fic, both because I'm an idiotic aromantic and it's very iffy to ship irl people in general. 
> 
> Not Beta'd read it and weep

“I’m going to kill God.” 

Tommy paused as he watched the marketplace barely slow from its fervent pace. He knew what he looked like - a scrappy, twig of a kid armed only with a fishing rod and an axe. Even from his position atop a scrabbled together pile of stones he barely gathered more than a passing glance. He vaguely registered a snort from the local potato farmer. 

Man, fuck Jerald. 

Instead of continuing the long string of curses slowly taking up the entirety of his thoughts, Tommy shifted his hands to cup his mouth. They had changed. There was a time where they were softer, less calloused and bony and absent of a slight shake. Easier to hold. His heart dully ached. 

“Yes, you heard me citizens! I will kill God, and that is a promise.” 

“Of course Tommy. Don’t you have fish to catch?” 

“Every time I try you mistake the bait as actual food. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not eat librarian meat. Honestly, I think I’m doing you a favor.” 

Tommy grinned as laughter rippled through the square. It didn’t last long, but he considered it a success and perched into a more comfortable position. His change in stance gave him a clear view of another resident coming closer, her teeth flashing and shoulders bouncing. 

“Tommy, get down from there.” Seeing as he did in fact respect women and was very much so not intimidated, he slid down from his tower. He gathered his balance just in time for the woman to sling a muscled arm over his shoulder. “You know, one of these days you’ll get banned from the town square.” 

Tommy tried to elbow the woman in the ribs, decidedly failing. “You’re just jealous I’m so hilarious. Look at them! They can barely keep themselves from falling over!” 

His arm swept out to motion at the marketplace. No one was even looking at him. The woman snorted loudly. 

“Keep telling yourself that. Come on, break’s over.” 

“And if I don’t want to come?” 

Without a pause, she dragged him forward and ruffled his hair. “You’ll get hanged. Now come on. Jerald’s looking at us weird and I don’t want my entertainment dead.” 

*** 

Tommy hated that his hands shook. As he watched the village shut down for the day on his favorite hill, it was all he could focus on. Even through the thick gloves he had been gifted, they trembled and moved on their own volition. He worried if it would affect his abilities with a sword. God knows his aim had been seriously maimed. 

Light was slowly dimming within the spruce trees. Soon the only thing keeping him from blindness was the torches set out along the perimeter boundaries. If he had any attachment to this place, he would have restocked the ones he saw already burnt out. Except, he didn’t have any attachment. He would rather keep his coal to himself. 

The torches stayed dark. 

It was peaceful, wrapped in darkness and biting frost. Wind played senseless games with itself, his unkempt hair swaying alongside it. Tommy used to hate the cold, but a couple of months in the village gave him a grudging appreciation for it. The chill kept him alert, alive. He’d be dead several times over if the cold didn’t annoy him into heading home from a reckless task. 

He reached to his side and gripped his axe tightly. 

“There you are!” 

Despite the overwhelming urge to chuck his axe at the noise, he opted to shriek loudly. Jogging up the rocky path was the same lady from before, disposition lax and confident. Choppy white hair brushed the fur of her large hood, the coat attached to it fitting perfectly where it sagged off Tommy. She appeared hardened, sculpted from the terrain, blending in with her surroundings through only her essence. 

She was perfect for the tundra. It made Tommy feel like a floundering clown. 

Regaining his composition, Tommy whirled around with a sneer. “Jesus Silje! A little warning next time? I nearly cleaved you in half, you hear?” 

The woman laughed, the sound whispering alongside the wind. “As if. Come on, it’s nearly completely dark. We need to get you back before our town is devoid of its jester.” 

“Oh no, how horrible.” 

“I’m serious. The kids would be heartbroken if they lost their Tommy. Their parents even more so. I can hear them groaning now.” 

Tommy shifted, settling further into the dirt. “You can go on ahead,” his face softened, “I’ll come back soon. I just have to think.” 

Tommy heard the dirt groan behind him, along with its crackle of protest when Silje came to sit beside him. He kept his eyes forward, studying the tall buildings below him. He wondered when he learned to discern the town’s layout. A part of him was frustrated with the several places he was still unclear.

“I never knew you to be someone who thinks,” Silje murmured. Even in her youth wrinkles dotted the corners of her eyes. 

“Oh fuck off.” 

Silje chuckled. For several moments, the only thing speaking was the incessant wind. At some point, the crackling fires below joined in the wind’s babblings with its own inane chatter. Tommy’s hands still shook. 

“Mali and Caspian laughed a lot when they heard of what you did in the market today. They thought it was funny. Something about you killing God was ridiculous to them.” 

“I wasn’t joking,” Tommy replied, a smile playing along his lips. “One of these days I’m going to set out and kill God.” 

“What, you mean in the End? You’re ridiculous.” Silje surveyed the brightening stars before jumping up. “Does this have anything to do with your suspicious past?” 

Tommy followed suit, his legs slightly numb as he pulled his legs under him. “That’s exactly it, my good friend.” He stood, brushing his hands off on the leather of his pants before attaching his axe securely to his belt. 

“Are you going to leave soon?” 

Tommy paused, meeting Silje’s eyes. Her face betrayed no anger, just resignation. For a moment all he could see was the face of his best friend, eyes pleading but shoulders drawn and where was he he left them he had to get back - 

Chest clenching painfully, he breathed in and prayed. With the next exhale he expelled the rawness steadily piercing his skin. 

“Yeah.” 

He knew how his voice sounded - he has always been very conscious of himself. A part of him cursed this fact, embarrassment resting hot in his face at the broken, longing sound that was his voice. All Silje did was release a misted breath. 

When she caught his eyes once again, he could feel the experience laying heavy in her gaze. Instead of vocalizing the weariness creasing her skin, she shrugged. “I guess it’s to be expected. You did let us know from day one.”

Tommy hoped the softness of his grin conveyed everything he wanted to say. 

“We’re going to miss you.” Silje turned, not bothering to check if he was following. “You really made yourself home in our little community.” 

As he quickly came to her side, energy pooled into him as if to dispel the previous somber tone. Yes, he was going to leave. He had to. But even with a personal inventory of his items laying unwieldy in the back of his mind, all he could think of was visiting his refuge one last time. The thought energized him. 

“What are you guys going to do without me? With your breadwinner, your main protector gone, you’ll be practically helpless!” 

As Silje shoved him lightly before switching topics to what stew Mali had prepped for him, Tommy felt calm. He could do this. He could be light, funny, passionate Tommy who grabbed attention away from shining on his uglier parts. He could grin widely and laugh loudly and stop his mind from straying to the ones he’d been ripped from. He could put one foot in front of the other and pretend that he wouldn’t have to the very same thing when he forced himself home. 

He could be Tommy. 

Months later, armed with burns on his shoulders and an unearthly shadow following his every step, Tommy realized that he should have savored that moment. 

*** 

He left the very next day. 

He rose with the sun, perhaps even a couple of minutes before. His nerves were electrified, the traitorous thing in his chest refusing to beat steadily; Tommy blamed the several things he dropped that morning on said traitor, refusing to acknowledge how severe the tremor in his hands had gotten. If he acknowledged it, it would be more than a temporary problem. Which it wasn’t. Nope. Absolutely not. 

Despite his reputation as the mooch of the village, the fruits of his labor were now staring him in the face. Honestly, he was surprised. Inside his enchanted rucksack there was just so much stuff. Most important was his armor, glinting a brilliant blue and emblazoned with runes the clergyman had helped engrave. He had a matching axe - its heavy swings were more forgiving of Tommy’s hands - but its diamond head stayed firmly on his shoulder. Somehow, he had also managed to gather a lot of building materials, a flint and steel, torches, raw ore, a crap ton of food, and a bucket filled with water. That last item left Tommy grinning. 

A hefty sack of eyes of ender occupied his hands. He was grateful that he managed to find someone willing to trade him blaze powder for a couple emeralds. 

Once he felt properly prepared he stumbled out of his temporary home, chest numb. 

“You look like you’re about to fall,” Silje grumbled. Tommy laughed, exiting the doorway and following the path to the town square. Around him the town was waking up, people going on with their lives. 

A miniscule part of Tommy wished they would stop to say goodbye. 

Silje walked slightly ahead of him, her broad chest angled slightly towards him. She glanced down at the bag in Tommy’s hand before furrowing her brows in contempt. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Oh, but I very much so am.” 

“When I asked if you were going to the End, it was a joke. We don’t even know if it actually exists!” 

Tommy felt a mischievous grin spread across his face. With the way Silje was looking at him, he didn’t doubt that it looked like he was about to commit mass arson. “Actually, it does. I know it for a fact. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this. Zombies are dangerous enough - I wouldn’t risk being in a land full of endermen for fun.” 

“How are you so sure?” 

“This.” 

With a flourish, he pulled out one of the eyes of ender. He rolled it between his fingers a couple times. Silje followed the movement, her brows knotted together, face the facsimile of confusion. Before she could open her mouth and ask if he had lost his mind, Tommy wound his arm back and threw the pearl into the sky. 

“What are you doing you idio-” 

“Wai-” 

“It’s gonna break! Good job you just waste-” 

“Shut up and watch it!” 

Tommy pointed up aggressively. In the sky the eye had expanded, ignoring all physics as it floated in the direction of the rising sun. For a second the eye eclipsed the little dot of light - pupil shimmering unnaturally and light crawling from its all-encompassing form, the second seemed to slow to stretch into several long moments. Then, gently, the eye fell to the ground a couple yards away with a soft ‘clink’. 

“East,” Tommy whispered, enraptured. “There’s an abandoned stronghold in the east. There’s a portal there. I would know, I’ve seen it before.” 

“You’ve seen it?” Silje squawked, her face cracking in indignation. Tommy’s grin grew impossibly wider. It was painfully obvious that for a moment he had been reminiscing and swimming in nostalgia. For a kid, he did that a lot more than he should. 

“I have, I really have!” Tommy jogged towards where the eye landed, the barely constrained energy impossibly apparent. “My friends back home have too. We all went together, we even saw the portal. It was there! Broken, but it was just like in the legends. 

“The stronghold was really far from home, but not as far away as here. And in a different direction, I guess. We managed to clear the place - man, I fought so many monsters that I was sore for weeks. But we didn’t jump into the portal, we couldn’t risk it. We just marked it and headed back to base.” 

“So you’re trying to get to the stronghold and retrace your steps there?” Silje asked. Tommy shook his head, a light note coming from the back of his throat. 

“If I was good with directions, maybe,” Tommy snorted. “It was hard enough to get back home with like thirty people on the expedition, a couple maps, and a compass. Me, with only myself and my sexy body? There’s no chance I could make it. I’d get even more lost than I am right now. I do have one hope though.” 

He dropped the shrunken eye back into his pouch. When he looked up, fire blazed in the blues of his eyes. “The last part of the stories, the one about them making it back from the end? They landed back at their settlement’s spawn. Their spawn! Do you know what that means? If the stronghold and the portal are real, then that part should be real too, right? If I get into the end, I can-I can get home.” 

“Because you’ll be teleported to your spawn,” she finished. Tommy shook his lifted hands, expression reeking of desperate relief. 

“I’ll be teleported back home.” 

Silje took a step back, fingers coming to her forehead and rubbing. She looked down at the ground. Tommy knew all she would find is icy dirt, but he waited until she looked up once again. Her eyes only held exhaustion. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she said finally. Tommy wasn’t sure if he was expecting a different answer. 

“I’m going to miss you too,” he supplied weakly. He fingered the paper in his pocket, the one which he had hastily scribbled down this village’s coordinates. For a moment, all he did was stay there, unsure of how to say goodbye. 

He turned east and desperately willed the pain to ease. No matter how much he had prepared himself for this inevitability, it felt unmistakably like he was abandoning another home. At least this time he sort of got to say goodbye. He hesitantly stepped his left foot forward, off the wooden path. 

“After I kill God, I’ll make sure to visit.” 

He walked, one step in front of another, into the rising sun.


	2. Maybe Challenging God Was A Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, just maybe, he should've thought things through. He at least should have thought on it enough to realize that God probably wouldn't die from a couple good hits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW/TW: Swearing, major injuries, graphic description of injury
> 
> Is Tommy being a dramatic bitch a CW

As he ran between the hundreds of dark legs teleporting to and fro, Tommy thought for the first time that this may have been a bad idea. To be fair, his reasoning had gotten a bit compromised ever since he saw the remnants of the old camps. What could he say, longing was a bitch. 

He also hadn’t expected God to take the form of a fucking dragon. 

Okay, so maybe he didn’t think things through. God probably wouldn’t fall at a couple of axe swipes and the End probably would have been more than just a flat island for him to easily exchange blows. It was like God didn’t want to die or something. 

So there he was, jumping between craters and keeping his eyes on the sky, cursing his own audacity with the entirety of his soul. At least the weather was nice. 

He managed to land on the other side of a crater leading nowhere, the stone porous and shifting where he crouched. If he didn’t find shelter, it would probably move and leave him falling to his death. God this place was fucked. 

Tommy grabbed onto a floating chunk of rock. It didn’t slow from its lazy path going somewhere to the left. Above him he heard two powerful beats of dragon wings, the sound inexplicably louder and more imposing than anything else in his vicinity.

“Please, God, I’m begging you to leave me alone. Don’t make me call you a bitch!” 

God didn’t say anything. If anything, they must have laughed. 

“I know I must have given you the wrong idea. I swear I only slightly meant that hit,” Tommy called out, his voice loud and filled with more emotion than it could carry. “Look! It’s even healed! Please just activate the portal and I’ll be on my way, scout’s honor!” 

He was right. The only blow he had managed to land, a ruthless strike to the notch between its stomach and leg, was nowhere to be seen. As soon as the dragon flew a loose loop around one of the towers it was as good as new. Because of course, the damn thing could heal itself.

God probably wasn’t even listening. Did God ever? 

Tommy was cut from his thoughts at the sight of an opportunity. His little rock friend was floating closer to one of the towers. Its obsidian walls were rooted deeply in a large piece of island, the stone somewhat sturdier than anything else in this cursed place. 

He adjusted his grip. As soon as he floated close enough, he jumped with bated breath and prayed; he’d been doing that a lot recently, taking leaps of faith and asking for someone to hold his friends for him. Maybe one day that prayer would come true. For now, he landed on all fours and trapped himself on the side of the pre-built wall. 

Maybe if he got to the top, he could disable it. 

“Is that it, God? You have some magical little thing keeping you alive? Not for long you fucking bastard,” he shrieked. He sounded a bit like a dragon. 

“I bet your name isn’t even fucking God. That’s why you’re not answering me. Can you even understand me? Am I talking into the fucking what, god damn void?” 

He knew he was. Tommy gripped his axe and cobble tightly and waited for the wingbeats to quiet. 

His hands slightly shook. 

Soon he could only hear the murmurings of the void and the displacement of space. If he didn’t start moving now, he would be caught off guard as he climbed.

So he moved. 

Old instincts quickly took over, his scaffolding quickly gaining in size as he scaled the tower. If he was any less scared for his life, he would have made a dick joke. He probably still would. Movements self-assured and quick, he lay in a sick gray area where he could think more sophisticated thoughts than what would ensure immediate survival. It was the blessing of practice - except those times he wasn’t fearing for his life - yet for some reason, he couldn’t focus on using that blessing in any meaningful way. He was thinking about dick jokes. 

But hey, at least he was at the top. 

Tommy crouched immediately, surveying the flat roof of the pillar. He shuddered slightly. In front of him, bouncing up and down and coated in raw electricity, he registered a purple cube. It almost looked like a dice. Tendrils of white curled from its electric aura - the same ones he saw coating the scales he damaged. 

If he hadn’t been in a constant state of fear, this would have set him over the edge. 

“What’s the worst that could go wrong,” he murmured, mostly to himself. It sounded frenzied and frantic, as if being ionized as soon as it hit the air. That feeling extended to the rest of him. A lesser man would have buckled from that force before him, likely running away entirely; but Tommy - being the alpha male he is - got stuck dealing with insects burrowing deep beneath his skin. 

He took a deep breath, ignored how many times he did that in the past fucking hour, and swung down. 

The world exploded and Tommy wondered if he should have prayed. 

*** 

When he came to, he saw the stone walls of his self-made cover. By some stroke of luck, he had landed in safety with what felt like minor falling injuries. He could move his extremities, he could remember his own name, and most of his blood stayed where it should be. 

The injuries from the explosion though. 

Man, those hurt like a bitch. 

His entire chest burned, the skin feeling entirely too hot to be human anymore and too tight to be anything but. His breath didn’t come easily. Seeing as it was less due to overwhelming pain and just the sudden lack of capability, he counted it as a victory. A painful victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

He wasn’t sure he could stand up. 

“Right, okay, let’s do some recon. What did we learn?” 

The words were barely more than a whisper, but they were his only familiar tie to this upside-down world. He clung to them. They were more comforting than focusing on the steady heat sliding across his chest and neck. Or focusing on how he would have died on impact if not for the flexibility of end stone. 

“So, the explosion,” he started. He didn’t have the strength to finish. If he had known the magic cube of doom did that, he wouldn’t have even touched it. Even if it meant doing the alternative - killing the dragon before it got the chance to heal. Because that’s why he exploded himself in the first place, right. 

He couldn’t land enough hits that quickly and he counted eleven other pillars. 

He didn’t have a bow. 

Oh god. He was going to die here. 

He was going to starve or get eaten or fall through the world and he wouldn’t even see his friends again Jesus christ he was going to die here he was going to die- 

He breathed in as much as he could and closed his eyes. 

He exhaled. 

For several long moments, he only focused on the sounds from the other side of the stone. The noises warbled and ripped, entirely unearthly yet oddly comforting. The End as a whole was oddly comforting. It carried with it the aura of finality - it destroyed at the smallest mistake and forgave with erratic flexibility. It ended, it finished, it warped, it gave. 

He didn’t care for it. Maybe someone else would like it. 

He refused to let this place be where he died. 

With a start he pushed himself onto his forearms, his abdomen cracking to life despite his best efforts. He clutched the walls as he stood. His breaths were already coming out in quick heaves, chest shaking and burning and nearly forcing him back down with pain. 

Okay, focus. 

Slowly, painfully slowly, he shifted the cobble to create a large enough entranceway for himself. God, it fucking hurt. Every other push his chest arrested for longer than if he just forced the rocks open, his tongue steadily becoming more slippery and the pressure in his head building. It seemed that every push was supplemented with a long break. 

Finally, after way too long, he saw light. Or, well, darkness and floating rock. To the side, he registered his axe jutting out from the ground and, after no consideration, gently picked it up. He wheezed. The action pressed his ribs against his chest plate, eliciting another short groan in a long series of pained noises. 

Tommy paused. One of his ears tilted towards the sky. 

Wingbeats. 

He dropped. 

With an all-encompassing cry the dragon was on top of him, outstretched claws grabbing and missing in a heart-stopping gamble. Wind, forceful and irrationally warm, pressed him further onto his smarting front and deeper into the end stone. He cried out. 

However, as he slowly rose from where he lay and his foe retreated to the sparsely dotted outskirts, he caught sight of his only hope. 

On the dragon’s wing lay exposed, singed red skin. Skin that refused to heal. Skin that it obviously carried with pain. 

Tommy gripped his axe and smiled for the first time in a while. 

As he watched the dragon pace the borders of his territory, he plunged his weapon into the nearest enderman. It screeched unholy in his ear, but another slash into the creature’s exposed stomach left his eardrums intact and a corpse at his feet. He plunged his fingers into the thing’s unblinking eyes without a second thought. 

After carefully retrieving the two dead eyes and mentally rebranding them to cope, he turned. He slashed again. And again. And again. 

Breathing heavily, Tommy rubbed his chest plate and whimpered. If moving that much brought him nearly to his knees, he needed another method of transport if he was going to get home. Which he had. 

He clutched one of his newly obtained ender pearls and threw. 

He crashed into the side of another pillar in full view of his eyeless corpses. 

Jesus Christ, he couldn’t breathe. The throbbing in his head deafened him to everything but the pulsing alien thing he had once called his chest. It almost felt completely separate from him, like a thick layer of dead skin refusing to peel off. Which was perfect, seeing as he certainly needed another coping mechanism to fuck up his life for however long he was going to live it. He wasn’t really complaining. 

He vaguely knew that he was crumpled against the wall. To an outsider, he probably looked like another rock - or a corpse. He stayed there for a while, sucking in ragged breaths and trying desperately not to cry. Unable to look up, he delicately gripped some cobble from his bag. 

Wings beat overhead, the music for his procession, before quieting with distance. He laughed under his breath at the sudden sense of deja vu. 

Once again, he moved. 

All of his energy worked to keep him together and moving up. Block, jump, block, jump. He felt himself settle into the rhythm, familiarity swaddling his body in the way it only did when he was toeing the line of hysteria. It kept him intact as he climbed. Soon enough, the jolts of pain and aborted gasps melted into the rhythm as well. 

He eventually did reach the summit of the pillar. It took nearly twice the time he spent scaling the other tower despite its smaller size. By the time his hands met with glassy stone, it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his shaky grip on consciousness and fallen to his death - or, if not death, a severely more painful fate. 

He stood from his position on all fours; shaky, sure of himself. The world faded into only him, his heartbeat, his axe, and the bouncing object in front of him. One hand adjusting his axe and the other prepping a second pearl, he- 

He- 

Screamed. 

The runes engraved into his armor flared to life, searing a brilliant white. All he could see was a shower of violent purple and red, pouring over his helmet and onto his back and into the chinks of his armor and- 

God, it fucking burned. 

His skin was dissolving, clothes melting away, blood pounding louder than the roar overhead - somehow he landed on his knees again, fingers trembling against their objects as rivulets of blood wormed from his shoulders to his nails- 

Tears burned trails down his cheeks and his mouth opened wide for a choked cry and the stench of corrosion just wouldn’t fucking go away- 

He heard the click of a gaping maw snapping shut and air pressed into skin where acid burned. The scaled reaper flew above him, gliding in a wide arc before facing him eye-to-eye. 

Through his blurred vision, this so-called God looked like death. 

But dammit, he wasn’t going to die here. 

The dragon flew slowly back from where it had to glide out, wings beating in a languid, powerful rhythm. It gave him time. Time needed to think of an escape plan, one that consisted of him teleporting to a relatively safe position to hide in when he inevitably lost control of his body. He quickly glanced down the side of his obsidian pillar. 

Islands shifted above the incredibly cratered mainland. They looked to be orbiting the center bedrock structure, all moving in a relatively similar clockwise path. What little end stone that existed between him and the void seemed too delicate to support him crashing into it. That is, if he managed to aim correctly in the first place. 

Despair strangled from him another sob. 

The eyes of death came ever closer, its mouth opening into a dimension of blackness and blades. In one last-ditch effort, Tommy threw his head back and scoured the sky. 

Floating in the air and steadily passing by was a massive purple hull. 

It appeared to be some kind of ship, purple bricks constructing the main body and a sail-less crow's nest. The structure was close enough for him to hear the soft thrum of something he could only describe as ‘advanced’. Its construction didn’t look human. Magical, if anything. 

Most importantly, it was within teleporting distance. 

In mere seconds the dragon would be upon him. He could smell the poisonous tang of its breath and see the purple of its eyes, its snout only feet away and gliding forward even still. Dread and overwhelming panic choked him. His shoulders burned. 

At the last second, he swung. He forced all that was left of his energy into the arc, his body moving in tandem with his pained yell. With the momentum he threw his other hand upwards. 

He didn’t hit the dragon. He did hit his mark. 

Arms sagging to his sides he met the dragon’s eyes, a cracked grin too impassioned and human for the End breaking his face. In a voice overflowing with pain and rage and fear, he whispered one word. 

“Bitch.” 

He crashed into a purple balcony just as an explosion reverberated through the void. No one seemed to be near him or had noticed the sudden stowaway on their ship. 

For the moment, he was safe. 

He passed out very quickly after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: Alright so we can just skip to when he's reunited with everyone and get really into the Angst since that's what you want to do  
> also me: Make him get fuckign pwned by the ender dragon   
> me: Sounds like a plan :) 
> 
> Yeah don't mind me posting a new chapter in the middle of the night I don't have an issue I swear-


	3. The End Changes Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what, he was going to get back. Even if it meant he came home half-dead and a chunk ripped out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Graphic descriptions of injury, violence, dissociation, non-consensual body modification, non-consent as a whole, detachment, vague meeting with God, near-death experiences

After day whatever of passing in and out of consciousness, the most movement he had achieved was huddling more securely into the wall of the captain’s cabin. It was a wonder he hadn’t been found. 

However, as he felt hot ooze dribble down his fever-soaked skin, he knew he would die if he kept on waiting. 

He surveyed his surroundings. The ship seemed completely abandoned. Only the impossibly vast void stretched around him. 

Better now than never. 

His arms pushed his torso off the deck, his entire abdomen smarting at the movement. Lurching, his hands and knees carrying the entirety of his weight, he crawled towards the stairs leading further into the belly of the beast. Blinding heat nearly swallowed him whole. 

In all honesty, he felt blind. He stopped registering his movements or anything not in front of him - even then, he sometimes had to blink to remember where he was. He could only shake and whimper and try not to think of the torture he was willingly enduring. 

Somehow, he managed to get into the captain’s cabin. It looked empty, inexplicably more cold than the neverending void. He noticed a brewing stand, a chest, and not much else. 

With a shuddering gasp, he limped closer to the chest. 

Mental cognition resumed when he got close enough to the chest to reach. He still bumped his head against it, to ensure that it was real.

His head throbbed a bit. It was probably fine. 

It took a great effort to flip the chest open. It was probably fine. 

His eyes glazed past the various valuables, forgetting why he should care. It was probably fine.   
Instead of grabbing at the gold bars or suspicious fruits, his fingers wrapped around a squat little bottle. Red liquid peeked through the thin paper protecting it. 

Now this, this he could get behind. 

Trembling, he brought the spherical bottle closer to his chest. He almost forced it straight past his lips but hesitated at the last moment, instead letting his hand fall. His ribs pushed further into the side of the chest. 

“If it really is a healing potion, we don’t want my clothes to be all up in my wounds,” he murmured half-hysterically. The memory of picking bandages out of reformed skin flashed through his mind. After clumsily placing the potion back into the chest, he peeled off his arm guards. 

His hands paused at his shoulder guards. 

He sucked an unstable breath in, counted to three, and ripped the armor off. The clasps dug into his skin as they released. 

A warbling wail permeated the air, the voice too spent for the sound to carry any farther than a couple of feet. Maybe it was his. He didn’t really know. 

Next came the chest plate, his shoulders refusing to rotate even an inch and allow him an easy escape. After some fiddling, he had to rip it off as well. The voice was a little louder that time. 

It took him a moment to regather his bearings. At some point, his eyes had closed and his temperature had risen into rolling waves. The tears leaking past his eyelids did little to alleviate the heat. He opened them, fell closer to his axe, and let the blade make slices in his already ruined coat and undershirt. He mouthed an apology. 

Fabric sloughed off him, most of it stained dark. It was apparent where his armor didn’t protect - the pits and shoulder-blades of the clothing simply no longer existed. 

Welp. He was basically naked. He would have laughed if he remembered he could. 

Fortunately, the bareness did seem to alleviate some pain. Without any biting wind or stinging heat, void air seemed to exist at permanent room temperature. Small mercies. 

The bottle was in his hands again. He shook, uncorking it and bringing it to his lips before pausing. 

“Test it, big man. This is End potion. End don’t work like Overworld, no sir.” 

In perhaps one of his smartest moves, he took this thought to mean tilting the bottle and pouring some of it straight on his chest. Blessedly, instead of world-ending pain, he only felt a tingle. He looked down. 

Ouch. Angry purple skin replaced his normally pale chest, the bruises raised and splitting into millions of little red dots. Yet, in the distinct shape of water blots, some skin had calmed to a relatively human shade. It even felt better. Vicious heat parted for spots of cooling chill. Calm, familiar - it almost felt like a cold palm pushing into his soul. 

Without hesitation, he downed the entirety of the bottle. 

Best idea he ever had. 

The relief was instant - cold spread from his heart to his skin and lingered in its soft touch. He vaguely heard his own sigh. His mind sharpened alongside his mending body, his eyes finally taking in more than what was just in front of him. Clarity was a hell of a drug. 

Tentatively, as the chill finally settled into a dull hum at the tips of his fingers, he rolled his shoulders. The skin felt entirely too tight. A part of him wondered if it was even his or if he managed to somehow swap insides with a shorter person. 

He carded his fingers through his hair, the strands falling predictably. Nope, still him. But hey, at least he could function regularly. 

With newfound vigor he pocketed the other potions and strange fruits, actually standing for the first time in who knows how long. His stomach growled ravenously. He made a note to restock on the many baked potatoes he destroyed after that. 

***

With his stomach pleasantly full and mind moving quickly, he heard a noise. 

It sounded entirely not human. 

His axe was in his hands in a second, ears straining to listen. The noise repeated, a series of grunts and grumblings he had never heard before. It was coming from below him. 

He descended down the second flight of stairs. 

Axe raised, he braced himself to fight… nothing? The only thing in the oddly sparse hull was him, a large pair of wings mantled on the opposite wall, and two purple rocks. One of which shifted. 

“Jesus fuck!” he yelled, because now he was strong enough to do that. 

He barely dodged a shot from the one closest to him, its shell opening to lose a burst of white energy. His axe lodged itself into the opening. The other half of the shell beat against his hilt viciously, but he made quick work of stabbing blindly into the creature’s insides. It eventually ceased its movements, its armor falling to the side and revealing a mangled, deformed center. He gagged. 

A magic beam met his side, the energy encompassing and literally sweeping him off his feet. Then he was in the air and he was losing his mind because Jesus Christ what the actual fuck - 

His bare shoulders touched the ceiling. He realized suddenly that he forgot to put his chest plate on. 

He was currently floating in a ship in the void while fighting a magic clam. Without a shirt. 

God this was so fucked. 

Despite his mind currently reeling at the absurdity, he planted his feet onto the ceiling and pushed down. He shot forward, much quicker than he expected. Giddiness overwhelmed him. If he disregarded the fact that he was vulnerable and could die very easily, it almost felt like he had reverted in age - it had always been his dream to be weightless. 

He lunged between the magic shots, both hands swinging downwards with unforgiving power. The head of his axe bounced off uselessly on the creature’s shell. The kickback sent him flying back, his legs curling and flipping him over. He landed feet-first on the opposite wall. In a second, the energy within him redirected into shooting him forward once again, the air doing little to slow his frenzied dash forward. 

His axe met rock. At this rate, the diamond would shatter. 

The beams of energy just kept coming. 

Hiding behind one of the room’s pillars, Tommy panted. If he couldn’t hit it with a melee weapon, he needed something ranged. Which was great, because he didn’t have a fucking bow. 

Another shot managed to find its target. He ducked, legs shooting up to protect his bare middle. 

The magic deflected off the diamond on his shins. Well. 

He could do something with that. 

Determination boiled in his chest as he pushed away from his hiding place, focus solely on the unearthly white lighting up the room. He used his axe this time, redirecting one of the bolts back to its sender. It missed, but the creature didn’t close. It looked like he was going to be playing some baseball. 

He bounced between the two walls, trying again and again and again to get something to land. His arms were growing tired of the swinging, his beloved axe becoming heavy and unwieldy in his hands. He needed to finish things off quickly. 

As another bolt barrelled toward his chest, he pushed off the bricked wall. 

At the last second, he extended his leg and kicked with his diamond-clad instep. Bullseye. 

He redirected in the air once again, arms swinging back as he darted towards the disoriented creature. He struck into the shell. Soon, the only thing left inside would be the monster’s dust. 

A hearty cheer left his lips when his feet touched the floor. He bounded forward, his strides wide and slightly fatigued as he approached the chest. He stopped suddenly. 

Instead of reaching for the chest’s clasps, he reached out to the wings. The pair were connected by some kind of slab, each wing’s dull ombre of feathers covering an unbending sheet. Some kind clasp rested on the inside of the connector. It looked too sharp to attach to anything but armor. 

“Hehe, wings,” he said, awkwardly pulling the wings over his head and near where they could rest naturally. If he managed to get them onto his chest plate, it would look sick.

He felt the wings spring to life. Something cool grabbed onto his back before piercing skin and oh Jesus fuck- 

Metal was burrowing deeper and deeper into his skin, tearing where he had just scarred and going further even still. The muscles in his back unraveled, everything ripping and pulling and stretching and changing- 

When he came to, his knuckles were clenched white in front of him and blood ran from the new weight inside his back. 

Elytra, he read on the mantle. The things twitched behind him. 

He turned, grabbed his rucksack from the entrance, and hobbled up the stairs. 

His mind shut down. 

*** 

Overpowering the captain clam and setting a new course was easy enough. Their navigational system consisted solely of three destinations, the one they had left from helpfully outlined with a purple line. He reset the ship’s direction, started brewing a couple of potions, and waited. Easy. 

His mind was fucking shattering. 

No matter how much time passed, his body never became his again. It was Elytra’s, it was that things vessel, and he was stuck feeling every touch and shift deep inside his spine. 

(After some time, he tried unfurling them to their full length. At the sight of its tips stretching past the deck’s railing and into the void, his mind shut him out for several hours.) 

He ate when he was hungry. He cut the back out of his black turtleneck undershirt and put it on. He used simple sentences and simples words to baby himself into being alive. 

Days passed as the ship slowly but surely returned to his final battle. He tried gliding from the quarterdeck to the main deck, just in case he had to in the future. He couldn’t lift up and fly, but he could go down slowly. 

Hah, down. That’s where his mind was going. 

He felt so, so detached. 

A couple of times he screamed. He yelled and cried until his throat bled, pulled at the appendages until he saw white, threw himself at the wall until both his arms went numb. He didn’t remember those occasions well. He didn’t remember much of his time on the ship. 

When the foreboding obsidian towers came into view, yearning struck through the layers of fog as fresh as day one alone. 

He was getting home, even if it meant burning the End into nothing. 

*** 

In essence, his plan hadn’t changed from before. Get to the magical dice, blow them up, teleport, repeat. The only thing that had changed was himself. 

He opted to push past it. 

As soon as the ship came into range he threw his ender pearl, his body colliding harshly into iron bars. Around him, the noises of the End increased. It felt like it had noticed the glass inside his eyes and elected to make everything infinitely harder to ignore. 

He broke the cage, swung, and crashed into the ground below. 

Easy. Simple. 

In front of him rested another tower, the path forward littered with holes and debris and hundreds of teleporting bodies. If he strained his ears, he could hear a methodical flapping steadily coming closer. It did seem too lucky for that first explosion to go unnoticed. 

He ran. Easy. Weaving through the obstacles triggered something in his muscles, the weight akin to an assurance of sorts. If he focused less on his footing and more on that sensation, he could pinpoint the place where his self-preservation once lay. It was supposed to make his heart leap into his throat when his foot slipped through stone. It didn’t. 

He began scaling the second of ten. He wondered when everything would feel real. 

Spoiler alert - it never happened. 

By the time the fifth tower felled, anger pervaded both his body and his mind. It simmered malicious and ugly at the back of his throat; yet the target for this anger, the outlet for the sudden onslaught of fire, remained unknown. Perhaps it was at the dragon. Perhaps it was at himself. 

He crashed into the ground again. His body was really starting to hurt. 

Just as he rolled onto all fours, fully intent on getting up and running, a tell-tale blast of air brushed against his face. He ducked, blindly stabbing his axe upwards. The head met resistance in its arc.   
The dragon shrieked. As Tommy scrambled away, he shrieked as well. 

No longer was the dragon a pure, intimidating black. Burns streaked the majority of its side, scales withering off with every erratic pump of the dragon’s wings. It looked nothing short of weak - frail. 

Tommy shook his head and began running towards the sixth tower. 

***

The seventh tower passed with little incident, the eighth a close call between him and the dragon’s maw. Steadily, the issue became less evading the dragon and more evading his own body’s pleas to rest. He stumbled with nearly every step, his breaths coming out too quick and vision blurring at the corners. His focus turned to only getting to the pillars, destroying, running. 

On the way to the ninth tower, he missed his jump. 

Unfortunately, Elytra unfurled and glided him safely onto the mainland. 

He was numb. 

By the time he managed to get to the peak of pillar nine, his hands shook so badly he couldn’t hold his axe. He was on his knees, panting, noise choking out of him with every gasp. He wondered if he should just let the dragon kill him. He remembered who he was supposed to be and felt normal for a split second. 

He was going to get back. 

When he gathered himself and swung, he didn’t throw a pearl. Instead, he jumped backward, feeling large sails snap open and catch him on his descent. 

He was going to get back.

The wings sliced through the air with minimal effort. He pivoted slightly, feeling Elytra compensate and respond.   
He was going to get back.

The strain on his body alleviated slightly. He spotted the dragon to his right - each wingbeat seemed to pain it, the very act of staying in the air almost too much for it to handle. He felt triumphant pride bleed from his body and into his head. In the air, he suddenly felt grounded. 

He was going to get back. 

His feet almost skimmed the end stone when he landed, Elytra half-closed behind him. His jumps were lighter, less taxing, as he bounded towards the last of the ten towers. Confidence slowly settled into him. 

He was going to get back. 

The last crystal bounced up and down in tandem with the closing in wingbeats. Energy leaked into his hands as he leaped up and swung. 

He was going to get back. 

The dragon was retreating, scales almost completely burned off. He turned sharply. In an instant he was above it - the sails of Elytra casting a dwarfing shadow. They snapped closed, leaving him diving down at the dragon axe-first and ready to kill. 

He was going to get back. 

Together they screamed in agony, voices joining in a chorus of finality and despair. He burrowed his axe deeper between the dragon’s wings. Wind blazed past him as they plummeted into the ground. 

He was going to get back. 

At the last moment he jumped off, letting the dragon’s head ram face-first into the unlit portal. He watched as its body morphed into a blinding white light, the energy released singing his skin with its intensity and power. Everything lit and shattered around him. The only thing he could feel was himself. 

He was going to get back. 

He landed at the edge of the portal. At some point, he snatched the egg from its little tower. His hands shook and his shoulders burned and his back felt incredibly heavy. But here he was. Here he was. 

He was going to get back. 

He lept into the newly lit portal. 

*** 

Nothing surrounded him. He felt suspended, trapped in time and space without any chance to escape. Desperation breached the barrier between his body and mind. 

“Please, just let me go home,” he yelled. It echoed and compounded in his ears, supplying him an image that his eyes couldn’t see. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open. He couldn’t tell if his mouth was either. 

Gently, a sensation curled from his chest to his back. Warm, forgiving. Knowledgable. 

Powerful. 

He whimpered a broken sound, attempting to turn his head but unable to tell if he truly had. The sensation doubled down in its efforts. If he were any calmer, he would have thought it similar to petting. 

It rubbed patterns down the back of his head and neck. The touch seemed to sink into the depths of his soul. Warm, soft. Safe, home. 

Weakly, as his body slipped away and mind grew dim, he unknowingly called out one last thing. 

“God?” 

The sensation stroked his head and the world faded again. 

*** 

His feet were touching solid ground. He vaguely registered that he was in the center of town, a colored glass tower stretching impossibly high and carrying water. He also registered the sudden clatter of stone that came somewhere to his left. 

He looked up. Standing under one of the center’s archways a tall figure stood frozen. 

“Hey Big Man,” he called out feebly. All of a sudden, the only thing he could feel was overwhelming exhaustion. 

“I’m back. Miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohohoh, now we're really getting into it! If you didn't pick it up yet, this entire fic is all about the detachment/defamiliarization of one's own body because that shit makes me scream 
> 
> Next chapter is Tommy being reunited, woot woot


	4. Finally Back, Perhaps A Bit Too Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was finally, finally back. To his friends, to his family, to his home. 
> 
> He didn't even think to prepare for what might happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Dissociation, Detachment

The first thing Wilbur did was crush Tommy into a stranglehold of a hug. The second thing he did - after several long moments of labored breaths and increasing pressure - was lift his head from Tommy’s shoulder and whistle a series of crisp notes. 

Tommy struggled slightly. “I’m not saying that I don’t want this boss man, I’ve been thinking about it for months - but a man has gotta breathe and-”

“Absolutely not,” he heard, and just his friend’s voice left him drowning in overwhelming pain. “I’m not letting you run away again, not at least until you fucking say goodbye.” 

“Wait, what-” 

Wilbur repeated the tune, notes urgent and aggressive. This time, Tommy heard the notes get echoed back by several people. He leaned back and felt Wilbur shift to grip his biceps. 

Oh. 

He looked very, very mad. 

Despite being close enough for him to bite Wilbur’s nose in a split second, he could see the force clenching his friend’s jaw and the tightness behind his lips’ displeased line. His drawn together brows, although only mildly alarming on their own, compounded on the intensity stored in Wilbur’s eyes. He searched for any hint of a joke, any cue to grasp onto and settle the panic quickly building in his chest. Nothing. Only a teary glare, pain, and so much anger. 

This… This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. 

“Wilbur,” he pleaded. For what, he didn’t know. The hands gripping his arms added yet more pressure. In some sick sense, it grounded him; the warning of a disconnect that was slowly growing breaking with the touch. He felt more real again, more present. He wished that this wasn’t the reality he was present for. 

“Tommy?” another voice called out. He turned to see a blank grin and an obnoxiously green hoodie, its owner bouncing on his feet as if to regain balance. He must have teleported in. The fact that Tommy hadn’t noticed didn’t rest well in his subconscious. 

“Dream! Dream holy shi-” 

“I have him,” Wilbur cut off. “Keep sounding the alarm, yeah? I’d rather have more people on the scene in case he has a pearl.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Tommy finally burst out. “I’m not running away, I just got back! I never fucking ran away!” 

He breathed heavily. His skin seemed to slowly be fading off, replaced with a thick fog that coated his nerve receptors and made everything grow distant. If he didn’t get that under control, he’d start punching shit. 

“You didn’t run away?” 

Tommy looked up through the haze. His eyelids felt oddly heavy. Despite this, he could see the fragility overtaking Wilbur’s expression. 

“I didn’t run,” he repeated softly. “I didn’t run.” 

Just like that, the last layer of vitriol liquefied, leaving him defenseless and painfully open. Tommy was suddenly pulled into a second, gentler hug. He felt an overwhelming urge to cry. 

“Tommy?” Dream cut in. The way he said his name, so delicately and reverently, caused a jolting ache to rip through him. He reluctantly detached himself from Wilbur, turning and smiling through the heat behind his eyes. 

Dream was on him in an instant, hands patting at his arms and shoulders as if to check if he was real. Behind him, Tommy saw other figures running down the pathway. 

“Christ, Tommy, you’re, I-” Dream cut himself off. He laughed, the sound watery and weak.

“Tommy?” Yet another person called out. Sapnap, George, and Fundy sprinted into view, Eret and Niki close behind. He was about to greet them with a quip - something about not overusing his name - before he froze. 

There, on the road. Steadily coming closer. 

Tommy sucked in a breath and everything suddenly shattered. 

Short, clad in deep green. Soft brown hair, messy, easy to run his hands through. Slightly red, that was new. Friendly eyes, slightly wide, slightly glassy. Eyebrows raised, mouth open. Tears on cheeks. 

“Tommy,” the most important person said. His voice sounded thick. 

“Did you dye your hair?” he asked, mostly to stem the onslaught of emotions. 

He laughed. Too loud and emotional, but that was fine. “No dumbass, I was working with redstone.” 

“That’s fine,” he whispered, vision now completely blurred. “That’s fine Tubbo. You could have dyed your hair though. I wouldn’t have cared.” 

Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was walking. Running, even. 

“You wouldn’t have cared, but I would have.” 

His own whimper sounded too loud in his ears. But he was nearly there. Nearly to Tubbo. Nearly home. 

“I would have wanted you to see it,” Tubbo choked. “You should be there.” 

Tommy threw himself onto his friend. He was pretty sure he was the one openly sobbing, but not sure enough to care. He just tightened his grip and let everything but him and Tubbo slip away. Nothing else mattered enough to stay.  
He stayed there for moments, minutes, maybe longer. He didn’t care. Neither did Tubbo. 

But, of course, all good things had to end. 

The horrified whisper of “Jesus, when did the kid have wings?” shot him back into a world where there were other people. 

Namely, Schlatt, who had somehow joined the expanding group and whose eyes were trained on the thing on his back. 

Right. With all this affection he’s been getting, he forgot what he was. Who he had riding aboard. What stuck to him and would be stuck to him for-

His mind and body no longer aligned. His mind didn’t go far physically, only shifting a bit behind where it should, but it was enough for him to notice and recognize just how weird it would be if he tried to describe it. He wiped at his face, grabbed Tubbo’s hand, and turned. 

“Well-” his voice cracked heavily, but he continued- “I guess I have a bit of a story to tell.” 

*** 

They decided it was best to move things to the Holy Land, mostly to avoid any territory disputes. They all lived under the same flag, sure, but several groups had claimed parts of the town as their own to build on and live in. Some did it for the sake of privacy. Others - namely Jschlatt and Quackity - did it to raise a bit of havoc. Despite the fact that they were all on speaking terms, it was better to circumvent the situation entirely. 

That was how he found himself seated on a stage in front of nearly the entirety of the town. He focused on chewing through his golden apple. Dream had given it to him on the way there, pushing it into his hands with a strange intensity. 

Of course, he still held Tubbo’s hand. No one tried to object, instead giving Tubbo a chair to sit on as well. 

“So, is that everyone? I don’t see Techno or Philza,” Tommy started, squeezing Tubbo’s hand in an effort to mentally right himself. 

Wilbur shifted closer in his chair. Out of all the seats in the audience, he had managed to get the one nearest where Tommy sat. “They’re in the Nether right now, on an expedition or something. They’ll be back in a couple of days, I’m sure.” 

Tommy reared back, alarmed. “And you just let them? I know they’re strong but letting them go by themselves is just-” 

“Tommy, please,” Fundy cut in. His ears, distinctly large and vulpine, swiveled slightly to pin to the back. “Techno and Philza are fine, we just saw them two days ago. We haven’t seen you in nearly four months.”

Tommy hummed slightly before biting through the core of his apple. He had hoped for some sort of reaction, some banter to play off of, but he only got attentive stares. Tubbo squeezed his hand lightly. 

“Alright, first off I want to say hi. I know I’m gonna have some private heart-to-hearts with all of you, but I really missed you guys and you gave me the floor so suck it bitches-” 

“Tommy, language!” 

Despite the current instability of his state, his laugh came out relatively normal. It felt wrong. Instead of focusing on that, he tried to add more energy to himself as he continued. “Right, right. Anyways, where do I start? Yell it out team, else I’ll start on the day I was born and you don’t want that.” 

“At the beginning, Tommy. Day one,” Wilbur called out. It wasn’t a yell, but he would take it. 

“Day one? Do I hear an agreement for day one?” A chorus of affirmatives rang out, along with a ‘get to it, bitch!’ and a chuckle at his side. “Fine, day one.”

He couldn’t stall any longer. 

“Well, I guess it all started with the raiders. 

“You remember the raiders from that morning? How they were really dumb and didn’t stand a chance against the might of all of us combined? Well, we were wrong on the dumb part. Somewhere during the night when I went to grab some wood from the outskirts a couple of ‘em knocked me out. Before I could even take a piss, man.” 

He surveyed the shocked faces in the crowd. Ah. Maybe Wilbur wasn’t the only person that thought he ran away. He couldn’t identify the strong jolt in his chest. 

“Next thing I knew, I was all tied up and being dragged who knows where. Obviously, being the strong powerful Chad that I am, I escaped. We were somewhere in a forest, I think, when I got out - it was honestly really pretty, I think you guys would have liked it. There were only a couple of them and their horses so I ran away easily. Had to bang up my hands a bit, but they’re fine.” 

Tommy punctuated his statement by brushing his hair out of his face. Tubbo’s grip on his other hand tightened. 

“Fine my ass, they’re shaking like you’re drunk,” someone said. Several people turned to Sapnap, his widened eyes making it apparent that he hadn’t expected anyone to hear. Odd. 

Tommy waited for a ‘language’ that never came. He hurriedly tried to pick up the conversation. 

“Don’t worry, I’m ninety percent sure it’s psychosomatic,” he dismissed. 

No one laughed. 

This was getting… really uncomfortable. 

“Anyways,” he shouted a bit too loudly, “I had no idea where I was, so I just started walking and hoping that I would find something I could recognize. I think I went the wrong direction though. 

“I eventually made it to a village,” he continued. “But, well, they didn’t use coordinates as their navigation system and had no idea who we were or where we were located. So I kept on walking. Spent quite a few nights in the wild, now that I think about it. Maybe a month? A couple of weeks at least.” 

Tommy gasped suddenly, as if to show that he had an idea. He quickly unfastened his leg guards and pulled out a paper from a hidden pocket. 

“I found another village, way deep in the tundra. By the time I made it there, it was already too far into the winter and I was way too weak to keep going. They actually did use coordinates occasionally, which is what I have here. But, since it was too cold to keep going, I was kind of forced to stay there through the winter.” 

He felt Tubbo snatch the paper from his hand. The action was followed by a sharp intake of breath. 

“Tommy, this is thousands of blocks away.” 

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Correct.” 

“How the hell did you make it back from there?” 

“Well,” Tommy blew out a breath, “I didn’t travel that entire distance. As soon as I saw it I knew I would just get more lost, especially since I’m already shit with coordinates. Remember that time I got lost three hundred blocks away from spawn? Yeah, I had no chance. So, I tried to find another way. Which, uh. Which I did.” 

The entire town silenced in anticipation. When Tommy refused to continue, the entire town combined into an uproar. Discordant chatter rolled through the open area, voices overlapping and refusing to work together. In a sense, he enjoyed the chaos. 

“Kid,” Schlatt finally interrupted, silencing the rest to just murmurs. “What the fuck do you mean by that? And why are you suddenly-” he gestured vaguely to the horns spiraling from his head before motioning towards various others- “like us?”

Tommy grinned lightly, his hand coming to his face. “Well, uh-”

He halted. All the stuff he had already said - although still a dull throb at the sides of his head - was old, less biting. He had time to process it. The biggest threat against his survival back then was the elements. In the End, it was- 

Oh- 

That was all just an hour ago, wasn’t it? 

An hour.

Suddenly, the events of the End roared with a vengeance, eldritch and coating his insides. He couldn’t move, explosions sounding in his ears and temperate void air swirling against his face. 

An hour was enough time for it to all be a dream. 

Was this all just a dream?

When he focused on the bright blue sky, the abyss melted in and his seat turned to brick.

He grabbed his axe, shifted it in front of him. He watched as acidic blood rolled past its head and onto a dragon’s wings. 

Did he do that? 

Maybe. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. This was probably a dream, or he was hallucinating, or the blackness had finally claimed his mind. How cruel of his mind to conjure such a blissful lie. 

His eyes were burning holes into the hilt of his axe. His brain refused to settle, swimming and jumping and repeating thing after thing after thing after thing- 

Someone was moving in front of him. He faintly registered a weight clasping around his badly shaking hands. Warbles of the End drowned his ears. 

The far-away touch moved in slow patterns. He didn’t know where he was.

Where was he? 

Had he asked that question before? 

“Tommy, can you hear me?” 

Slowly, with the rhythmic beat of wings still ringing in his head, he took control of himself. 

It took a great effort to blink and look up. The motion felt like wading through lead. 

“Hey Tommy,” the person repeated. They wore a cardigan and a sweater. Tommy thought it looked nice. Cozy. 

“Can you hear me?” Tommy sluggishly nodded, the movement draining him of more energy than he had. He heard the person sigh in relief. 

“You went a little catatonic there bud,” he said gently. They were a he, right? “How are you feeling? You-you don’t have to answer any questions that you don’t want to. We’d just like to know that you’re okay.” 

What question started this? What was he supposed to do? 

Right. 

Answer. 

“Th-the End,” he finally answered, the words frantic and reflecting his haste to be rid of them. “I went to the End to use the portal to get back. I killed it and I got back, I got back and I have proof! I have proof, it’s right here, it’s right here-” 

He scrambled to get to the rucksack strapped awkwardly under the creature, ignorant to the worried calls from around him. He pulled it to his chest and shuffled through. With violently trembling hands, he pulled out the large egg and presented it. 

“This was its egg. I have some end stone and some fruits too, from the End. I-I know it’s weird, but that’s where I was. That’s where I was!” 

He felt a pressure rub circles on his back. He leaned into it, listening as the person next to him spoke. 

“We believe you man, we believe you. But you don’t look so hot. You can tell us everything later, yeah? When you’re-” the person hesitated- “More rested. Would you like me to bring you home?” 

Tommy nodded. Slowly. He couldn’t go much faster. The hand on his back guided him up - oh, it must be Tubbo, how did he forget it was Tubbo - while the other figure stood by his side. Someone - Dream, a clearer part of him supplied - carefully moved out of the way, somehow holding the egg. He looked down at his hands and realized they were empty. He looked inside himself and realized his energy was empty as well. 

“Yeah, let’s get you into bed. Everyone, please move.” 

Tommy looked up in time to see the hovering crowd stumble to make space. He sagged against the person not speaking - Wilbur, his name is Wilbur, his mind screamed - and plodded to the rhythm set by Tubbo. His eyelids closed too much for him to get a full picture of where he was going. He trusted Tubbo to lead him true. 

Half-blind and nearly falling with the weight of his exhaustion, he eventually found himself on a bed. Wilbur set his axe to the side. He assumed Tubbo took off his bag for him. 

He felt impossibly heavy, but he raised himself one last time. 

“Stay?” 

It was a question he was too tired to be ashamed of. He knew there was the chance they would decline, but a much larger part of him felt too vulnerable to ask anything but. 

He felt a second figure sit on the bed and instinctively leaned into it. Distantly, he heard a chair screech to a position next to him. 

With the sky above him bright and dotted with clouds, Tommy slipped away. 

If this was all just a dream, he hoped he didn’t wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was the reunited scene! I think I got a bit carried away, but I enjoyed writing it so,,, 
> 
> The next chapters will be structured a lot more loosely and more focused on Tommy finding support through the various peeps of Dream SMP. Every chapter will be a new person and will focus on their dynamic, how each person has been affected, and the various ways that they try to help our resident Suffering Boy. Time will still be linear though! 
> 
> I think it's pretty obvious who Tommy's close to. I think it's because their relationship (platonic because ew wtf) is so deeply rooted in supporting each other and an even exchange if that makes sense. Basically, I think they're really good friends and a good friend is better than anything. 
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll explore that friendship as deeply as I will some others. I think it'll be more of a background constant. 
> 
> Basically, I'm a slut for exploring interpersonal dynamics so that's what I'm gonna do- 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! If life doesn't kick me in the ass, the next update should be pretty soon!
> 
> Edit: I'm really sorry if I don't get to your comments quickly, please just know that I really really appreciate it and it always makes my day! I love you all and I genuinely have been brought to tears with the support I've been getting on this dumb stuff, y'all just really make my heart go <333333


	5. Wardrobe Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy goes in search of new clothes, despite being a bit of a fashion disaster. That's it, that's the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He finally gets a (sort of) good day!

After waking up, he spent a day staring at the sky and processing. It took great mental effort to come back to oneself, which he probably should have predicted. 

In one of the few sentences he spoke that day, he made it clear that Wilbur and Tubbo could leave if they wanted to. They spent the day by his side as he marvelled at the sky. 

Day two started with him curled up against his friend’s side. He smiled, then smiled at the fact that he actually felt something. 

Day two would be a good day. It was time to get shit done. 

The first thing would be getting some fresh clothes. 

He rolled out of the bed, slammed himself into the floor, and grinned as his two friends shot awake. 

“Now that you two are up-” he brushed his hands on his shirt as he stood- “It’s time for Tommy boy to get some new clothes. I’ve been wearing this shirt for like a week, maybe longer, and it’s certainly time for me to hit the streets with an iconic look!” 

Tubbo groaned, burying himself into the disrupted sheets. For a second, everything felt normal. “Bro, did you wake me up just to say that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Go back to bed,” Tubbo groaned, shifting the blankets to give Tommy a spot. What a good friend. 

“You know, just for that, you have to give me your shirt,” Tommy said gravely. 

“What?” 

Tommy nearly snorted at his tone but schooled his face neutral. “I didn’t stutter, Tubbo. Give me your shirt.” 

“What the fuck are you on about Tommy?” He turned to see Wilbur finally picking himself up from his curled position. 

“I want Tubbo’s shirt,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His grin grew at Wilbur’s incredulous stare. 

“I am not hearing you ask your friend to strip,” Wilbur stated wide-eyed. “That is not what is happening here. Please tell me that is not what I’m hearing.” 

“It is.” 

Tommy laughed loudly at the silence, high on simply feeling. God, he hadn’t felt so close to just being himself in weeks. He reveled at the way emotions coursed through him, so sharp and bright and integral in a way he couldn’t believe he forgot. 

“You know what, fine. Have my shirt. We’re in my house anyways.” Tubbo unbuttoned his shirt and slung it off his shoulders, revealing a white tank top underneath. As soon as he caught the soft fabric, he cheered victoriously. 

He motioned to wrap it around his shoulders before pausing abruptly. A sliver of disgust pooled inside him. Instead, he slung it around his neck, wrapped it securely, and breathed in. 

“Well, let’s get going,” Tommy motioned, unperturbed. Despite the splutters of protest behind him, he felt slightly giddy. 

“You didn’t even put it on correctly, you’ll wrinkle it-” 

“Get up or get left,” Tommy interrupted, already bounding down the large stairs. “I have shit to do. It’s your call whether you’re going to do it with me.” 

*** 

Predictably, Tommy had to wait until his friends were prepared. When they pointed out that he had been about to leave the house sans shoes or his rucksack, he grudgingly admitted that waiting may have been a good idea. But when he stepped outside to meet brilliantly crisp air, he regretted not coming out sooner. 

In his few days home, he had grown to love the sky. 

“Alright,” Tommy announced. “We have several things on our to-do list. First, as I said, I’m heading to my house and changing clothes. Is my house even still up?” 

Wilbur came to his side, brows furrowed in confusion. “Uh, of course? Why wouldn’t it?” 

Tommy shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know. Maybe it blew up or something while I was gone. I didn’t exactly leave it well-guarded.” 

His friends shared a look before shaking their heads. He took it as a signal to begin the descent down the hill and out of Tubbo’s obnoxiously luxurious garden. Mentally, he made a note to compliment his friend on its care. A larger part of him said to tease relentlessly. 

Of course, he forgot both of those thoughts when his feet met the smooth planks of the main road. His grin nearly broke his face. 

After that, it was only a short walk to where his main base rested nearby. He soaked in the new trees and street lamps dotting the road, quality of life improvements impossible to ignore. Tubbo told him about the community project when he had asked curiously. 

When he found himself in front of his humble little shack, the stodgy thing smashed up against the side of the railway, the conversation faded. The door looked dusty, barely used, but his little garden of carrots remained well-maintained. 

“What’s going on?” A slightly accented voice called out. Down the road, an unkempt jacket and ginger hair swayed in tandem with a walking figure. 

“Fundy, my man! We’re not doing much, just getting me a change of clothes.” 

Fundy snorted, now comfortably within stabbing distance should he so choose. “Ah, got it. Mind if I stay and chat while you do that?” 

Wilbur hummed in affirmative as Tommy swept into his house. The torches had long since burned out, mismatched windows now the only source of light. He brushed away the fond nostalgia curling in his chest and immediately headed towards his room. 

The squashed back room he called his bedroom could barely fit him. To distract himself from the slightly monotonous task of rifling through his drawers, he called out to the main room. 

“Speaking of clothes. Fundy, how the fuck do you wear pants?” 

The chatter cut. Fundy made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a choke. 

“None of your business Tommy,” Fundy replied, entirely too suspicious for his own good. 

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, pulling on a pair of black sweats. “I feel like it is though. I’m worried about the state of your tail man. What have you done to it?” 

He registered that Fundy responded, but he didn’t know what words. He was suddenly preoccupied with a realization. 

Namely, how he was going to wear a shirt. 

Karma was hitting him, and it was hitting back quick. 

“Tommy?” 

“Yeah?” Tommy replied, completely focused on warding off the onslaught of unwanted emotions. 

“You all good in there?” 

“Yeah, I just-” He slipped his fingers through his hair, taking a breath. “I just realized that none of my shirts have open backs.” 

He came back to the front room to be met with three pairs of eyes. 

“Ah,” Tubbo said. No one seemed to know how to approach the situation. 

“Yeah,” Tommy replied lamely. “If I could take this piece of shit off, I wouldn’t have to cut up my shirts, but I guess I’m stuck tearing them up-” 

Wilbur interrupted, brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait wait wait, take it off?” 

“Yeah, take them off. I didn’t just sprout wings-” he laughed slightly hysterically at the thought- “I just really, really fucked up. I think they’re supposed to be some kind of tool, maybe something that was supposed to attach to armor. And then I- it went- 

“So I can’t take them off,” he finished. The trio only looked more lost. 

“We can look and see what we can do if you want,” Fundy offered. He seemed completely bewildered, a touch of morbid curiosity shining behind his gaze. 

“I’d like that.” Inside, he attempted to bury the child-like hope coursing through him. 

“We could probably also enlist Niki since I’m pretty sure she’s free today. God knows we’ll need a bit of common sense.” 

Tommy grinned, heading back to his dresser. “For sure. Let me just grab a spare shirt.” 

***

They met with Niki rather quickly, the former coming as soon as Wilbur whistled sharply. After being briefly filled in, she agreed to help and ushered them all back to her home. She insisted on serving tea before anything serious. With his stomach pleasantly warm and smiles on his friends’ faces, Tommy didn’t object. 

“Alright Tommy boy, take off that shirt.” 

Tommy huffed and stuck out his tongue, but obediently turned away. It took him several tries to properly grab the hem of his shirt, but the dirty thing soon flipped over his head and onto the floor. 

“Are those tan lines- oh.”

The previous cheer disappeared. Somewhere in the middle of Wilbur’s sentence, a switch had flipped and left them all unnervingly silent. 

Oh. Right. 

He looked down at his bare chest, examining the lilac tint underneath the slightly tight skin. That same purple tint flashed in his mind’s eye, this time underneath a thick spider’s web of wrinkled scar tissue. If his back was anything like what he just imagined, even with Elytra shielding a portion from view, the sight would be nothing short of gruesome. 

His fingertips numbed, the sensation spreading down his digits and up his arms. He was slipping. 

He clenched his hands and forced himself back. He wasn’t fucking doing this. Not today. 

“Jesus Christ Tommy,” Wilbur finally said. The faint tremble of rage just made him feel more done. 

Niki spoke up, her voice pensive and uncomfortable. “Do you- would you like to talk about it?” 

“It’s really nothing,” he dismissed. He kept his tone light and airy. It didn’t stave off the pregnant pause now blanketing the room. 

He coughed awkwardly. “It’s just, well. 

“Getting out of the End wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.” 

The room stayed quiet for a second, his vague response seemingly leaving them all wanting. Fundy, bless his soul, quickly switched the subjects. 

“Alright. Well,” he croaked, voice laced with discomfort. “I’m going to need a closer look to see if we can somehow detach it. You said it was fastened by some kind of panel?” 

“Right on, F Boy. Here, give me a paper and quill and I’ll draw you a sick fucking diagram.” He soon found himself standing in front of a table, quill pressed into his hand. He recalled how the clasp looked when he had initially lifted it, shuddering only slightly. 

“So this is how it looked before it attached. And this-” he drew a second box, long sharpened tendrils protruding from its corners- “is how it felt like when it dug in.” 

His friends looked vaguely nauseous. Fundy cleared his throat. 

“Alright. Can you - I don’t know like - lift them a bit so I can see what’s really going on?” 

It was Tommy’s turn to look around the room and clear his throat. Although Niki’s home was better furnished than all of their houses combined, she also lived somewhat modestly. Meaning, small house. A small house that certainly wouldn’t fit the creature. 

“Yeah, we probably should go outside if we’re doing that.” 

They all looked ready to object, confusion apparent as they looked at where the wings brushed the back of his knees. He ignored them, taking the initiative and striding through the door. 

Once they all made it outside, Tommy took a deep breath. 

“Alright, you should all take a step back. If I hit you guys, it’s not my fault.” 

He focused on himself, unsure where to start. He started with his own arms, imagining stretching them far behind him. Elytra seemed to take the hint. 

Before he knew it, the wings sprung to life. He felt them lift far into the air, hidden panels shifting and sliding in an almost pleasant sensation. With no idea as to how he knew, he instinctively understood that they were splayed out high in a v-shape, the posture reminding him of parrot mid-stretch. 

“Holy shit,” he heard Wilbur say. Tommy almost said the same thing. Instead, he held onto the alien sensation and nodded towards Fundy. 

“Any day now,” Tommy huffed lightly. “I’m not sure how long I can keep it up.” 

As if snapped out of his shock, Fundy padded underneath the large tent of the wings. Tommy felt soft fingers prod his bare back where raised flesh met metal. He hissed slightly. 

“Ah yup, that’s blood,” Fundy announced dryly. 

“I’m bleeding?” Tommy asked, feeling slightly dumb. 

“Yup, right here-” A finger traced around where Elytra dug in- “where the skin got broken. It’s not bleeding a lot, but it looks like your skin has been trying and failing to close up.” 

“But the panel isn’t moving,” Tommy argued. “I honestly don’t feel anything there. I thought it was fine.” 

Fundy hummed lightly. “Maybe, but it is a foreign object. The body isn’t equipped to heal around something like this.” 

Tommy kept silent. Soft hands moved away from the protrusion, shifting to palm at his shoulder blades and dorsal muscles. He furiously ignored the new hardness pushing from under his skin and fog pressing in. 

“Get out from under them or you’ll get smacked,” he finally warned. When Fundy’s hands lurched away he immediately felt them retract, taking small pleasure in Fundy’s indignant squawk. He turned and leaped to grip Tubbo’s nearby hand. 

“Well,” Fundy began, dusting his hands as he measured his response. “It’s certainly something. It’ll take me a while to figure it all out, even with that little glance. I’m mostly worried about how close it is to your spine.” 

Tommy nodded, slightly desperate. “How long do you think it’ll take?” 

“A lot longer than a couple of days, that’s for sure.” Wilbur and Niki nodded, faces grim. 

More than a couple of days? That was fine. That was still progress. No need to be irrational. 

“Cool, cool,” he tried to reason. “Although, I could just-” 

He could just- 

He could just pull them off. 

His arms were behind his head in an instant, fingers gripping the connection between wing and mantle. Tensed, he prepared to pull, be done with it- 

Hands firmly gripped his biceps. 

“Chill, chill,” Wilbur soothed, face a mask of calm. “This won’t do anything except hurt you. Take a breath, hands off.” 

Tommy did as instructed. His hands released and returned to hang limply against his sides. 

Fundy did not do the same. 

“What were you thinking?” He cried out, surging forward. “You would have just made the bleeding worse, and that’s just if you didn’t catch a nerve-” 

He stopped himself, sucking in a breath. When he exhaled, he ran a hand through his ginger hair and composed himself. 

“Don’t do that,” he said finally. “I don’t want you paralyzed from the waist down just because you can’t wait.” 

He meekly nodded, squeezing the hand which Tubbo wormed into his. The group fell into a stiflingly tense silence.

“So, I guess I need more backless shirts.” 

His shoulders relaxed as Wilbur chuckled in front of him. The others followed suit, straightened backs untensing and fists unclenching. 

“Do you want to borrow some of mine?” Niki offered. “I’m pretty sure I still have a couple shirts from when I thought showing a lot of skin was my aesthetic.” 

Tubbo snorted beside him. “Uh, Niki? No offense, but he’s like a foot taller than you.” 

Niki ignored the comment, smile tight-lipped as she headed back inside. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“Uh Niki, I do not in fact feel like this will be fine-” 

Wilbur laughed, the noise bright. “Don’t worry Tommy, didn’t you hear? It’ll be fine.”

“Wilbur, I feel like you are downplaying the fact that this is very much so not fine-” 

Niki came outside again, an athletic tank in her hands. The back only a thin strip attached to the collar and armholes ridiculously wide, Tommy wasn’t sure it could be worn for any kind of sport. 

“Well? Try it on.” 

It barely reached his belly button. Hidden chuckles came from all sides. He attempted to pull it down and failed, eliciting more barely-concealed giggles. 

“Guys, I don’t think it fits.” 

He joined in on their laughter, pulling off the tank and handing it back. Niki winked and replaced it with a loose reddish-pink sweater dress, the back unnaturally cut out. By the way the cut-out frayed at the seams, Tommy suspected that Niki had cut the back out herself fairly hastily and recently. It fell to his mid-thigh. 

If he were alone, he would have buried into it. However - seeing as he was with reasonable people - he thanked a pleased Niki, continued the conversation, and absently rubbed the fabric between his fingers. 

They eventually said their goodbyes and headed their separate ways. 

Rolling the cuff of his new sweater and gripping the shirt around his neck, he nearly forgot about Elytra. 

*** 

“Hey, you mind if I sit here?” 

Tommy hummed a no in the back of his throat, not bothering to turn to face Wilbur. Sitting on a bench and gazing at the view from Tubbo’s backyard occupied most of his attention. The man-made landmarks reminded him of a second, much colder, home. 

“It’s a nice view.” Wilbur came to his side and sat, the motion slightly awkward. 

Tommy hummed in affirmation. “It really is.” 

The two sat in silence, Wilbur shifting restlessly next to him. Dismissing it as him just settling in, Tommy missed the other’s nervous inhale.

“Sometimes, I can’t believe that you’re back.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere of the conversation felt infinitely heavier. He turned, eyes locking with Wilbur’s intense gaze. 

That was the thing with Wilbur. If he had something he wanted to say, something weighty and serious and best avoided if possible, he maintained eye-contact. He maintained eye-contact until the second person folded under the intense scrutiny, until he managed to get the other person to feel the full extent of what he wanted them to feel. 

Tommy was now under that same stare. 

“I have to touch you sometimes, to remember that you’re not going to run away. That you didn’t run away,” he added hurriedly. “I’m really sorry that I thought you did.” 

Tommy grinned, smile all teeth and eyes sparking with nerves. “It’s no trouble man, I forgive you,” he dismissed. “I disappeared without a trace for four months. I don’t blame you for jumping to that conclusion.” 

His forgiveness seemed to aggravate Wilbur further. “That’s the thing though. I shouldn’t have assumed that. That was really wrong of me, especially considering that you came back to us.” 

“Come on man, don’t blame yoursel-” 

“It doesn’t matter who I blame, Tommy! The fact of the matter is you managed to get back, but it was all on your own. None of us helped you. We assumed the worst and none of us helped you.” 

Wilbur broke eye contact. Mentally, Tommy reeled. 

“And now you’re here despite me doing the bare minimum. And you’re hurt, you’re so fucking hurt because no one was there for you - I wasn’t there for you.” 

Searing anger flashed through him at the thought. He didn’t need someone with him at the End. He didn’t need someone to come and save him. 

He nearly voiced this rage, but Wilbur barrelled on. 

“Of course you did amazing - you achieved the fucking impossible. But you shouldn’t have had to. I’m the fucking adult here, and no matter what you say you’re still a kid - I’m responsible for you. But you had to save yourself.” 

The evening sky cast the world into brilliant oranges and reds. He tried to reach out a hand but immediately retracted when Wilbur flinched away. 

“You know how many travelers passed through our town while you were gone? So many. I asked each and every one of them, ‘have you seen a blond gremlin of a kid who talks louder than he can think?’ and none of them said yes. God, they came from so far away, from different biomes and fucking languages but I always managed to ask. And they all said no. And I didn’t push. By month three, I thought you had died.” 

Tommy bit his tongue, refusing to say that he might as well have.

“I thought you died, Tommy,” He spit the word out like it was poison on his tongue. “I thought you had run away and died when you needed my help. I could have searched for you, and instead I gave myself an excuse to stop trying. I failed you, Tommy.” 

“You didn’t,” Tommy said weakly. “You didn’t fail me. I was thousands of blocks away. You couldn’t have found me, Wilbur. That’s why I found you.” 

Wilbur scrubbed at his face. Tommy let him. For a moment, neither spoke. 

“Fuck, and now I’m making this all about myself. You fought your way back to me and all I can focus on is how I spent four months only battling my fucking thoughts, Jesus Christ.” 

Tommy didn’t respond, giving Wilbur the time he needed to work through whatever inner monologue he had whispering in his ear. He waited a moment. Then another three. 

“Wilbur,” he finally said. Wilbur’s head shot up from where it had been sagging. “I don’t know what to say. I-I forgive you, and I don’t hate you. I’m very happy that you’re by my side.” 

He snorted derisively, but his face turned to his. 

“I don’t- I don’t know Wilbur. I just don’t know how to fix that. How to make you believe that.”

Wilbur blinked, taken aback. When he looked a little further, Tommy could have sworn that there were tears at the corners of his eyes. He reached out again, pausing midway. 

Instead of taking his hesitant hand, Wilbur brought his own to Tommy’s shoulder and squeezed it encouragingly. For some reason, he was smiling. 

“It’s not your problem to fix Tommy,” he spoke, eyes softly landing on his. “It’s my own shit that I have to figure out. Focus on yourself, Toms. Focus on fixing the problems you have right in front of you. And don’t be afraid to depend on me when you need to.” 

In that moment, with Wilbur smiling down at him and swaths of orange coloring his face, Wilbur looked completely and irrevocably like a brother. His brother. 

“Okay.” 

The two lapsed into a comforting silence and watched the setting sun. Wilbur’s hand never left his shoulder. 

“Wilbur, can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

Tommy licked his lips, bringing animation back to his face. “What was that whistle you did? When you first saw me.” 

He heard Wilbur chuckle at his side. “Is that what you want to ask? Seriously?” 

“Absolutely.” A grin slowly spread across his face. 

In the corner of his eye, Wilbur shifted into a more relaxed position, their knees nearly touching. Wilbur coughed once before scratching his face. “It was a code for your name. After your disappearance, we set up a system where we could ask or announce someone’s presence. Everyone has a whistle for their name. I just called out your name and the signal that I was relaying your location.” 

“Is that why everyone came running?” 

Wilbur smiled fondly. “Yup.” 

Tommy continued to study the darkening sky, processing. 

“Can you tell me what my name is?” 

A sharp laugh rang from his side. “What, do you want to just call out your own name? Oh my god, you fucking narcissist.” 

Laughter filled the air. Tommy nodded twice. 

“Alright, fine. Okay, so you just-” 

A tune, three long notes followed by two short. Tommy repeated it, slightly hesitant. 

“Good! And to say where you are, you just have to go like this.” 

He repeated it again, this time putting the two sounds together. Wilbur laughed, happily surprised, before joining in with him. 

They sat there together - Tommy staring at the scenery, Wilbur humming a nonsensical little thing - until the sun swung low and the sky he so adored slowly melted into stars. Just as he stood up, prepared to head back inside and start a new day- 

A distant rumble came from far away, promising brimstone and heat and violent shades of red. It seemed that Techno and Philza were back. 

He turned to Wilbur, took a breath, and let his whistle pierce the brilliant sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My entire goal for the chapter was to not write a breakdown, damnit- 
> 
> Does an angsty conversation count as a breakdown? I don't know, but I now say it does not. I have succeeded in my goal, that's it, end of story. I won. 
> 
> I also made Tommy and Tubbo hold hands a lot. Screw you. You can pry platonic touch from my cold, dead hands. 
> 
> Next chapter we finally reunite with Philza and Techno! I stagnated their meeting because the two are very low-key characters and I wanted to give them the attention they deserved for when they first see Toms. Hehehe, this is going to be fun!


	6. A Little Getaway, Nonetheless A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy reunites with Philza and Techno. 
> 
> All things considered, it went pretty well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sleepy Boys are back in business babie! 
> 
> And yes, this is mostly fluff but what are you going to do? Huh? Deprive him of his comfort???? 
> 
> Also please auto-correct I know their names aren't common but please have mercy-

Honestly, Tommy never liked the walk to the nether portal. It was out of the way, littered in otherworldly stone, and just a touch too short to give him an excuse to steal someone’s horse. 

Of course, he ignored all of that just this one time. 

He walked down the obnoxious path, pushed down his grievances as he scaled the portal’s hill, and forgot any quip he had prepared when he finally reached the summit. 

There they were. 

Philza - familiar bucket hat on and coat grazing his ankles - staring at him with unguarded eyes. Techno, hand frozen on his sword and skull mask unblinking. Exhausted and slightly charred. His friends. 

Obviously, seeing as he was more composed than day one, he sprinted forward and into Philza’s open arms. 

Behind him, he heard the hushed whispers of Techno and Wilbur. In front of him, he heard a warm chuckle as arms wrapped more securely around him. The height difference made it slightly awkward - a part of him wished that their heights were reversed - but it was easy enough to ignore with a familiar body doing its best to encompass him. He felt hands pause on its feathers. 

“I made it back,” he announced, as if it wasn’t obvious. 

Reluctantly, Philza let go. Tommy tucked his hands into his sleeves and glanced towards Techno. He wondered what he would say - whether he would admit anything emotionally charged or get angry like the others. 

“I can see that,” Techno replied dryly. “You look like shit, by the way.” 

Ah. Yeah, he should have expected that. 

He burst out laughing, the force of it causing him to clutch his stomach and bend at the waist. Techno hesitantly joined in, shoulders untensing as he chuckled. 

“That-” Tommy heaved- “Should not have gotten me that much.” 

“What can I say, I’m a comedian.” 

Warmth blossomed in his chest, overwhelming the urge to start an argument. “That you are,” he replied sincerely. 

He immediately began to turn towards the occupied stables. Two donkeys, already equipped with saddles and packs, huffed at the air impatiently. 

“I got to say that you two also look like shit,” he added. “We can talk more while we get you oldies back home.” 

“Hold on,” Philza cut in, hands raised level with his grin. “Yeah, Techno and I are tired, but not so tired that we can’t put off heading back for a minute.” 

“They haven’t seen you in four months,” Wilbur added. “There’s no need to rush.” 

A wave of warmth nearly knocked him off his feet. It hit him just where he was. He was home, surrounded by his little makeshift family who all were focused on him. Heat burned the back of his eyes. 

“Yeah, there’s no need to rush,” he repeated, mostly to himself. “What am I thinking? Of course you guys would want more of the famed Tommy Boy! Get over here fuckwads, I think it’s time for a group hug.” 

Techno groaned good-naturedly, readjusting the red cape covering his armor. Wilbur grabbed him by the arm before pushing them all into an amalgamation of limbs. A comfortable amalgamation, but a mess nonetheless. Tommy breathed in. 

He had never been so happy being squished. 

“Damn, I missed you guys.” Somewhere from the pile, he heard a snort. 

“The distance made you sappy apparently.” 

“Techno,” Phil scolded. “Either shut the fuck up or carry all of our loot the entire way back.” 

Silence. Tommy giggled, relishing in how it vibrated from himself to the others. 

Everything just felt warm. His friends, the evening sky, the stones beneath his feat - it all emanated a warmth that he couldn’t get enough off. A part of him wondered when he started getting so giddy over something as simple as heat. The rest of him took a breath in and savored the moment. 

Surprisingly, he initiated the end of the hug. Even then, they all held on for just a second longer. Tommy couldn’t stop grinning. 

“Okay, I know today is a teary reunion day and all but I have so much shit on me right now that I might collapse if I don’t get it off.” 

Tommy hummed in agreement, motioning to grab some of the items off of Techno’s body. He complied, giving him a few satchels and assorted materials. It only took a couple of steps to find himself at a stable door. 

He heard an excited gasp behind him. It sounded distinctly like Philza. 

“Tommy, you have wings! Wing bros, oh my God!” 

He hesitated slightly. A distinct wrongness crawled underneath his skin, his traitorous mind whispering about how he should feel ashamed of himself, how he shouldn’t be like this, how he should hate even the mention of the thing. 

But Philza was grinning widely, already hastily slinging off his coat. The momentary solidarity, the moment of not being the totally fucked and alien thing that he was, masked the darkness swelling in his throat. For a second, its existence felt kind of okay. Like all of the good leveled out its overwhelming bad.

Philza’s wings, no longer requiring protection from fire, flapped out behind him. He had always liked how they looked, their pure black and white false eyes abnormal yet aesthetically pleasing all the same. Each wing measured nearly twice Philza’s height, a feather ranging from the size of a fist to the length of his arm. Philza ruffled them out before resettling them back into a tucked position. 

Tommy snapped out of his thoughts. “Wing bros!” he crowed, if just a second too late for it to naturally fit into the conversation. Elytra laid heavy against his back. 

Curious, Philza shuffled forward and instinctually shifted his wings. “How did you manage to do that? Get wings?” 

Tommy laughed and bared his teeth slightly. “Oh, you know-” He made a quick motion with his hands- “Found a village. Got to the End. Fought God’s dragon, at least I think it was God’s. Stowed away on a weird-ass ship. Got this bitch. Got home.” 

Everyone paused. Wilbur appeared the most serious, looking a second away from grabbing Tommy and committing what they called a brotherly crime against humanity. The other two just seemed completely dumbfounded. 

“Only you Tommy,” Philza shook his head amusedly. “Only you.” 

He waited a moment, prepared to deflect however he could, but Philza didn’t push. Instead, he simply swept by Tommy and began loading up the second donkey.

“Okay, so it will be two to donkey, yeah? What are we thinking for seating arrangements?” 

By his side, Techno exhaled sardonically. “I don’t think the donkeys are going to be able to hold much more weight. In hindsight, we should have brought some horses.” 

“Are you calling me fat, Techno?”

“I’m just saying that I doubt they can carry anything more than a baby. But like, a baby that isn’t six foot three.” 

Wilbur leaned in conspiratorially. “I think he’s trying to call you a baby.” 

“Yeah, I got that Wilbur,” he irritatedly groaned. “Which is totally offensive. I think that’s ageism. Can I get Tubbo and sue Techno for ageism?” 

“I think it’s only ageism when you’re older than eighteen,” Philza supplied. After securing a final bag to his steed, he huffed a sigh of relief. Techno finished his own bags as well. Wilbur silently helped him secure the bags he had been assigned. 

“That’s offensive,” Tommy protested. Despite his words, he searched for a lead and handed it to Techno. 

With a slight nod, Techno accepted the lead. “What would you know, the kid thinks he has rights-” Unperturbed by Tommy’s enraged disagreement, he continued- “But I digress. I’m tired as fuck. Are we all set to start heading back?” 

Nods all around. Wilbur cut in with a “First Techno, then Philza?” which elicited another round of agreements. After another slightly apprehensive pause, they set off; Philza and Wilbur holding the leads and Techno standing closely by his side. 

The two lived far out- so far that the road consisted of packed dirt and torches. Tommy didn’t mind. It gave him an excuse to make idle chatter. As they walked, his friends filled him in on the recent news of the town; they had prettied up Pogtopia’s ravine, which was nice. Apparently, all the town factions had settled down while he was away, agreeing to play nice and work towards a common goal. That was also nice, he supposed. 

Every so often, Philza would make a slight show of shuffling his wings. It was subtle, so subtle that Tommy wouldn’t have caught it if he wasn’t intimately aware of how he normally adjusted them. He had grinned weakly, pretending he didn’t notice- unaware of the other’s concerned glance. 

By the time they made it to Techno’s house, the sun had completely set. The sight of the night sky panicked him more than he liked to admit. It felt a tad too similar to a blank, yawning void. 

“Ah, home sweet home.” 

Techno’s house truly did look like home. Surrounded on most sides with plots of crops and shielded by woods, it gave the uncanny feeling of an isolated refuge. The cobbled path took winding twists around various barrels and sheds before ending at the large cottage Tommy suspected Techno had help creating. Lanterns glimmered brightly from the house’s awning. 

“Here, I’ll get the donkeys unloaded while you guys get settled in,” Wilbur volunteered. “It’s already pretty late. Do you think we should stay the night?” 

Tommy glanced at Philza, watching as he blinked slowly with exhaustion. “That might be a good idea.” 

“Ugh, guests,” Techno griped. “I suppose one night is fine. Just one though. And you’re helping me harvest in the morning.” 

“That’s fine. Thank you Techno,” Philza replied, breezing past and easily pushing open the house’s doors. Techno immediately rushed past, hastily relighting torches and muttering something about ungrateful peasants. Tommy followed close behind. 

After making a bee-line to the kitchen, he sat down heavily behind the kitchen island. As he watched his friends bicker lightly about the house he drummed his fingers, unsure of what to do. 

“Have you guys eaten?” 

Philza paused, furrowing his brows as he recalled their last meal. “We did eat a bit ago, but I know I wouldn’t complain about a late-night snack.” 

“Perfect!” Tommy rose with a flourish, purposefully striding around the granite top. “You guys can set up the house or whatever the fuck- Chef Tommy will make you a spectacular meal, the likes of which has never been seen before-” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Yeah, no.” 

Tommy frowned, jokingly jabbing a finger in their direction. “What, are you scared that my cooking skills are too good? Will it make you feel like, like- emasculated or some shit?” 

“I’m scared you’ll burn the kitchen down,” Philza remarked lightly. “How about you help Techno out and I’ll make the food?” 

“I wasn’t going to use the stove that much, just to do a bit of sauteing-” 

“The day Tommy sautes is the day the world ends,” Techno interrupted. “Come on, let Philza do his thing. I just remembered that I have something for you which doesn’t involve you destroying my house.” 

Ignoring the jab, Tommy voiced his understanding and followed Techno upstairs. Even with the open floor-plan, the many rooms crammed on the second floor left it feeling a lot more cramped than downstairs. Techno lit up more torches as he walked before finally stopping at his own room. 

“Wait outside,” Techno ordered. He quickly searched his somewhat disorganized room, pink ears flicking the entire time. Soon, he came back out in a looser shirt and pants holding something behind his back. He looked oddly nervous.

“You good?” Tommy asked, because he was a good friend. 

“Of course I am,” Techno replied dryly. He brought the thing out from behind his back and thrust it forward. “Here.” 

Tommy looked down. It was… Oh. 

Holy shit. 

“Techno,” Tommy said slowly, incredulity apparent in his tone. “Do you realize that you are holding a netherite sword?” 

He nodded his head as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I know what I’m holding, Tommy.” 

“You are holding a netherite sword.” 

“It’s for you,” Techno murmured. He scratched beneath his mask apprehensively. 

“I- are you sure?” 

He snorted, some of his confidence returning. “Yes, Tommy, I am sure that I am giving this sword to you.” 

“Well then, I am absolutely going to accept. No take-backs.” He hesitantly gripped the blade’s hilt, one hand on the leather grip and the other on its sheath. The weight caused his arms to burn slightly, but even his untrained eye could tell that it had been crafted beautifully - perfectly, even. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “I am the coolest and most powerful man alive. Techno, you have just made me into a God.” 

Beneath his mask, Tommy could tell he was smiling. His mind jumped slightly, trying to figure out why Techno had given him such a valuable thing; netherite had always been incredibly rare, meaning giving any netherite item as a gift was simply unheard of. Techno reached out a hand and quickly ruffled his hair before beginning to travel back down the hall. 

“Maybe you can actually beat me now,” he called out. “Though I doubt it. Come on, put it away and get downstairs. I’m hungry as shit.” 

***

They made it downstairs to see Wilbur and Philza talking lowly as they cut potatoes, both looking grim and the slightest bit worried. They immediately changed when they realized they had company, however; it took one glance at Techno to send them both on a tirade over his abundance of spuds and lack of anything else. 

After bickering for a short while, Philza took control and quickly fried the sliced potatoes. Without Tommy’s help. He had been very clear that Tommy was not allowed to even touch them before they were done. 

Once they all finished their filling, unfairly satisfying meal, Techno led them to their temporary rooms before they all fell asleep at the table. The risk of that had been somewhat high. 

With only a glance, Wilbur followed Tommy into his designated room after they all said their goodnights. He slipped into the bed after Tommy, keeping a respectable distance but draping an arm over his back to remind him of his presence. The light turned off. 

Okay, so maybe he was a bit scared to fall asleep alone. Maybe he needed someone there so he didn’t forget where he was. Maybe just having the light turned off left him tense and on edge. 

But that was between him and his creator. He didn’t dare to say anything out loud, shame melting hot at how childlike and dumb his fears were. 

But, well. 

Thank fuck Wilbur somehow knew. 

He fell asleep focusing on the arm on his shoulders. 

*** 

He woke up on his stomach, arms splayed out and nearly hitting Wilbur off of the bed. 

It was light outside. He felt pretty okay. 

Slowly, careful as to not disrupt his friend despite a large part of him saying that he would sleep through anything, he crawled off the bed. He didn’t bother to try and find a change of clothes, instead securing his sword and axe before heading downstairs. 

“Wow, someone’s finally awake.” 

Techno sat at the kitchen table, hands folded peacefully as he stared at the window. For a second, Tommy could forget that he was the most dangerous and mysterious man their town had. 

“I never slept, too busy grinding,” Tommy joked, coming to sit on the opposite side of the table. “What’s for breakfast, Big T?” 

“Potatoes probably.” 

Tommy groaned loudly, pointing a glare at his blank face. “Come the fuck on, Techno. You can’t just live off of potatoes. You have to have something else to eat.” 

Techno picked at his nails, disinterested. “You can actually. Besides, they’re what I have the most of right now.” 

“You mean always.” 

“I am what I am, Tommy. I thought this was my house. You don’t get to judge me under my roof.” 

Tommy sighed, getting up and rifling through the cabinets. “You have to have something else,” he repeated resolutely. “We are not eating potatoes for fucking breakfast, Techno.” 

“Well, I do have some stored wheat,” Techno relented. “But I haven’t ground it into flour yet.” 

“Perfect!” Tommy clapped his hands together, uncaring of the noise. A grin split his face. 

“Hold onto your horses-” Techno shook his hands slightly- “I just said it wasn’t ground yet. If you want some baked shit, you’d have to do all of the hard work because I am not doing that shit this early in the morning.” 

Tommy nodded eagerly, the task giving him a temporary purpose. Techno stood, digging deep into a cabinet to pull out a small grinder- the metal looked slightly rusted, likely from a lack of use. 

“Well, if you’re going to do that,” Techno added, mostly to himself. “I guess I could make some bread today. Of course, that would have to be after I get all the prep done for tomatoes. God, those shits are so fucking sensitive, one little breeze and they shrivel up like Philza’s balls-” 

“Techno,” Tommy cut in gravely. “You sound so domestic that it physically pains me.” 

Techno turned, voice unnecessarily serious. “It’s the self-sufficient life, Tommy. I doubt you would understand.” 

He then promptly chucked a sack of wheat berries at his face. Tommy yelped indignantly, just barely catching the bag and setting it next to the grinder and board. 

“Get to grinding. It’s about time Wilbur and Philza woke up.” 

He did as he was told. Techno rested a couple of feet away, head on his palms as if his eyes were closed behind his mask. He wondered why the other hadn’t taken it off yet. The abrasive noise lulled him away from focusing on it too hard. 

“You said that you had to do some farming prep today?” Tommy asked. The question came both from a need to continue the conversation and to fill the air with something other than the grinding. 

Techno replied lowly, voice heavy with sleep. “Yup. Spring season baby.” 

“Can I help?” 

“Sure,” Techno shifted, running a hand through his hair. “I remember saying something about repayment for the stay anyways.” 

“Jesus Christ, why are you making flour so early in the morning?” 

“Techno made me do it,” Tommy said quickly. Techno spluttered, shooting up. 

Philza sighed and rubbed at his face. “It’s too early for this,” he announced. “Too fucking early. Why don’t you two go outside for a bit and I’ll finish this up so we can make an actual breakfast.” 

Tommy happily obliged, dropping the crank and heading towards the door. 

“Oh, and Tommy?” 

He turned just in time to see Phil roll up the sleeves of his haori. 

“I still have some adventurers' clothes that you can wear. I left them in my room, if you want to change into something fresher.” 

“Oh yes, please. You look like a mound, Tommy, and I will not have you disrespect this house’s dignity. I mean seriously- is that a fucking shirt around your neck or-” 

“I will go change my clothes!” Tommy interrupted, refusing to let that sentence continue. He rushed up the stairs before anyone could say another word. 

*** 

Inside Philza’s room, Tommy found a couple of clean shirts already laid across his bed. He picked up the shortest one. Although he appreciated Philza’s aesthetic, he would rather have a larger range of motion should he so need it. 

The one he grabbed was a barely-there green, more sleeves than anything else. The thick, open collar took some finagling to get used to, but he eventually figured out that it crossed over the front to tie at the back. Once properly worn, it looked more like a robe. 

He went back to his own room to put away Niki’s sweater and - reluctantly - Tubbo’s shirt. He toyed with the idea of cutting it up and making himself a bandana. The smarter side of him told him he should ask for permission first. His smarter side was probably right. 

Before leaving, he tried to scare Wilbur awake. Nothing. 

Damn, he was out like a light. 

Philza pointed him towards the back door when he made it back down, a small grin on his face. He was met with the sight of dirt fields, a farm-ready Techno, and the inexplicable feeling of peace - he knew he would never say it out loud, but he didn’t deny it access in changing his mood. 

“Good, now that you’re here and not looking like you got stuck in a sack-” Techno swept his hand out across the plot- “I’m going to need you to till all of this.” 

He threw a tool at him, not even bothering to check to see if he caught it. Luckily, Tommy caught it. Its head shone a dull purple hue. 

For a second, Tommy felt like slapping something. 

“Techno.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why the fuck,” he began, voice steadily becoming more outraged. “Do you have a netherite hoe?” 

Techno brushed his pants, tilting his head nonchalantly. “I need a sturdy hoe, Tommy. I use it a lot.” 

“But why the fuck is it netherite? You could have used any other material and it would have worked just fine.” 

“I had netherite.” 

“You had- Jesus fucking Christ,” he tugged at his hair, attempting to compose himself. “I bet you did. And I bet you don’t have any actual hoes seeing as you use your fucking netherite on a God damn farming tool-” 

“I will be evacuating the area for mysterious and unknown reasons,” Techno replied, unbothered. 

“You’re going to get the tomato cages, aren’t you.” 

“No comment.” 

With that, Tommy was left on his own holding a ridiculous tool for a somewhat ridiculous task. Instead of dwelling on it, he opted to strike at the earth. Seeing as there was not much else to focus on, he noticed how each of his swings landed heavier than he intended; maybe it was the weight on his back or his arm muscles, which seemed to have forgotten how to put only a little force behind a hit. His aim veered occasionally. 

Ah. Right. 

A thick shadow of unrest swept over him, dampening his good mood. Hesitantly, he placed the hoe onto the dirt and unsheathed his new sword. 

No matter what he did, he couldn’t keep it still. 

Slightly numb, he resheathed the weapon and picked up the hoe again. The crunch of displaced dirt and slightly warm rays of sun did nothing to comfort him. He wasn’t distressed, really. He was just a bit disappointed. 

Techno eventually reappeared down the path, various wire contraptions hanging from his arms. The ease with which he carried them left Tommy slightly annoyed. They were light - they’re made of wire, for fuck’s sake - but Tommy knew firsthand how unwieldy carrying them could be. 

Just as Techno dropped them and turned to make another trip, Tommy called out. 

“Ah, Techno! Before you leave, I just have something I need to do.” 

He unclipped the sword from his waist and passed it over. Techno stood there, unsure of what to do. 

“I uh, can’t use it,” Tommy explained lamely. “I can’t really do any precise hits anymore, so this would be wasted on me. You can have it back. Obviously, I’m still a Big Man, I’m just a Big Man without a Big Sword.” 

Techno remained still. The sword laid in his hands. 

“But you always used to use a sword,” Techno finally said, voice soft and slightly anxious. “I thought you always used a sword.” 

Tommy flinched. “Ah, I did. I just-” he brought his hands up, watching as they shook- “I don’t think I can anymore.” 

He laughed, the noise tremoring. The silence stifled them, discomfort itching up his sides and into his grin. 

Finally, Techno nodded, the movement jerky but movement nonetheless. “Ah. Is that why…?” 

He motioned towards his axe. Tommy nodded energetically, thankful for the change in subject. 

“Right on, Big T! This bad boy is a lot more forgiving, I’ve found,” He grabbed at it, pulling it to the center in a grand sweep. 

Techno nodded to himself, inspecting the weapon. As he stepped further into his element, Tommy could see the insecurity seep away. 

“It looks kind of shit, Tommy,” he replied. “Do you mind giving it a swing?” 

Tommy obliged, taking a step back before thrusting it down. Right between imaginary shoulders. In the present, Techno concealed a snort. 

“Sorry, it’s just-” Techno waved him away- “Jesus Christ. Try again.” 

He tried again. Techno couldn’t stifle a laugh. 

“What?” Tommy asked, confused and indignant. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just- oh my God- here, do you mind trying out the sword for me?” 

Awkwardly, he switched weapons and assumed a fighting position. He struggled to even keep the point facing straight. 

Techno burst into laughter. 

Even as Techno hurried to relieve him of the weapon, he could feel his face burning. He busied himself with holstering his axe again, furiously ignoring the shake in Techno’s shoulders and his light giggles. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, sounding entirely not sorry. “I just can’t believe how much you suck at combat. God, I need to get you a proper axe and lessons like yesterday.” 

“Excuse you, I can defend myself just fine,” Tommy argued back. 

Techno paused, the mirth leaving him with only an indiscernible stare. Despite how inappropriate his laughter had been, it was infinitely easier to handle than the weight of reality. Easier to handle than the shake of his hands. Pressure built on his back. 

Attempting to recapture the light conversation, Tommy jabbed a “And I can beat you in a fight, easy.”

Techno shook himself. “Maybe when you can hold an axe right.” 

The humor hadn’t reappeared in his voice. Tommy shifted uncomfortably. 

“I’ll be getting you a better axe than that,” Techno continued. His voice had taken to being monotone and emotionless. “And I’ll be teaching you how to use it. I, uh, really don’t trust you to hold your own in any kind of solo fight.” 

Tommy nodded. He vaguely recalled his first night away from home. The pressure worsened. 

Irrationally, he pulled out his axe. 

“Are you sure about that, bitch?” He yelled, inflammatory and fake in the same breath. “Come on and fight me like a man, I’ll pummel you so far into the ground that you’ll be fertilizer for the next season’s crops-” 

Techno chuckled. 

Finally, Tommy could breathe. 

“First off, you shouldn’t hold the axe so tightly. It compromises your form and makes you more static,” Techno instructed. As he gently grabbed at Tommy’s hands, Tommy could feel the warmth of the sun once again. 

“If I don’t hold it tightly, it’ll just slip out of my hands.” He breathed and focused on the air. 

“I get that, but there’s a fine line between compensation and bad form. Here, it would be better if-” 

“Is today ‘teaching Tommy how to fight’ day?” A new voice cut in. 

There, disgruntled and rubbing at his eyes, was Wilbur leaning against the porch’s railings. His hair defied physics and his eyelids hung low, but he seemed relatively well-rested. Techno huffed by his side. 

“That it is. I’m planning my downfall,” Techno said dryly. Tommy grinned in support. 

Wilbur waved at them before turning to head back inside. “Yeah, sure. I’m sure it can wait until after breakfast, yeah? Philza managed to make pancakes.” 

*** 

They left not long after that, Techno crowding them out while rambling about all the things he had to do. He did, however, fix Tommy a meaningful look before they left. 

He knew he would be back soon. Techno’s house wasn’t that far away, after all. 

The ride to Philza’s was significantly lower energy than the night before. It consisted mostly of him and Wilbur bickering as Philza watched on fondly, occasionally interjecting with his own jokes when he deemed fit. 

He didn’t try to shuffle his wings unnaturally. All he did was give Tommy a pensive glance whenever he stumbled from the added weight. Tommy tried to ignore it. 

They made it to Philza’s home base rather quickly, but they left just as fast. Wilbur had mentioned something about needing to be in the main part of town, citing this as his excuse for why they had to head back immediately. Philza just nodded and told them to come back soon. 

Wilbur and Tommy made it back with the sun still high in the sky. Despite the bright light, he couldn’t shake the weariness of the past day and a half. 

He ushered Wilbur away, hugged a slightly agitated Tubbo, and spent the rest of his daylight hours slowly wandering the city. 

Yeah. It had been a pretty good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could also be titled as: I Ignore The Fact That Techno And Phil Would Have The Most Knowledge About Tommy's Journey And Focus On Techno Being A Farmer At Heart 
> 
> Of course I plan to address it, but let them have a fun vacation at Techno's Farmhouse just this once, please- 
> 
> Also I know I didn't super focus on Phil here, I genuinely just couldn't fit him in the way I plan for him to in this story. So, chapter dedicated to him it is! 
> 
> Also, I know I'm not super quick at replying to comments and I'm super sorry,,, please know that if you comment something I will read it, smile a shit ton, and would follow you to the ends of the earth. Like genuinely, your comments make me so genuinely happy and warm and it really sucks that I can't find time to show you just how much they mean to me <3 
> 
> Also also, I may or may not have been listening to "Ground All Day" by Follies And Vices on repeat to try and capture the vibe I want whaaaat-


	7. In The Night, A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night reminded him a bit too much of a place he would rather forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Flashbacks, Slight Violence, Slight Self-Hatred 
> 
> Rip

For the next couple of days, he settled into a routine. 

He would walk around the town, memorizing new changes and new people as he went. He would think back on the four months he lost and ignore every reaction that shouldn’t exist. He would ask for a job, a task, any way to lend a hand - and would be politely ushered away in lieu of an outright decline. He would watch the sun set, walk into Tubbo’s home, and fall asleep with his arms around him. 

Today, Tubbo went on a trip to a nearby town in search of a valuable trade. Wilbur took a day to spend some time with Fundy. Both of them were expected to arrive late into the night, even early morning. 

They told him not to wait up. 

Of course, they said so with concern - going so far as to propose cancellation when he hesitated. He refused, herding them out the door with shaking hands. But his hands always shook nowadays. Therefore, he must be fine. 

He should be fine. 

Those words repeated in his head, unnaturally loud and expansive. They rang and thrashed and stumbled in his skull as he opened the door to his own home alone. He had yet to journey the alien rooms he had built without someone by his side; usually, Tubbo accompanied him, keeping him safe as he retrieved whatever he needed. Somehow, he still knew where he placed all his torches. 

The night - dark and obscured by clouds - pressed against his window. Around this time, people normally went to sleep. 

He refused to change when he tucked himself in, nor did he extinguish any light. It was childish, he knew - a stupid, irrational fear that he shouldn’t feed into or even entertain the idea of. He should take himself out of his comforting sweater dress, welcome the dark into his room, and go to sleep. Like a normal person. 

Nothing felt like home.

It was too dark outside. Even with the lights bright by his side, it seemed like he was captured in space - suspended in a bubble and only momentarily protected from the horrors outside. Inky tendrils pressed against his windows and slammed. 

Realistically, he knew he was home. He knew that if he stepped outside his feet would hit earth and his face would flare at how dumb he was being. 

In theory, of course. 

He felt his insides shift and churn, skin melding with the outside air. Smaller, he felt smaller, how the fuck could he feel like he shrunk two inches- 

His feet met the ground. Soft ground. Grass. 

Apparently, he was outside. 

Outside - a place with so many reminders of where he was. He didn’t need to comfort himself, didn’t need to battle, didn’t need to sleep. It was all right there - whether it be the scent of wet dirt, or the nearly blinding lights, or the sounds of various machines working through the night - to slap him in his face.

Maybe a walk. Just a small one. Just until reality righted itself. 

Thumbing the sleeves of his sweater, he turned onto the path in the direction of the town’s more urban area. It had changed so much in his absence, now brimming with new buildings and architecture. 

As he meandered across the bridge connecting his residential section to the plaza, a knot slowly built in his stomach. So high off the ground and the dark closing in, warbling- 

He decided that he would visit Niki’s new tea stand. By visit, he meant steal from. 

The plaza - no longer positioned around the edges of a body of water and instead bursting over it from the mountainside - stopped him in his tracks. He admired it. Bathed only in the gentle hue of orange lanterns, the plaza was a sight to behold; despite never asking who designed this gravity-defying portion of their town, he felt the sudden urge to compliment them. Although, he would have preferred more safety railings. The only thing stopping him from plummeting down into the lake was his own perceptiveness, his own skills, his own wings- 

He stopped himself. Used simple words and simpler thoughts. Yet if he tilted his head up just so, he would see the void crawling towards him, grabbing at his legs, forcing him down, down, down- 

Yeah, he should get a drink from somewhere else. 

“Hey, Tommy!” 

Fuck. 

Grin plastered on his face he turned, eyeing the figure right where the town met air. Dream, hand up in a wave and casual clothing on, steadily came closer. 

“Big D! My man! How are you doing?’ 

Dream stopped a couple of feet away, hands moving to rest comfortably on his belt. “I’m doing pretty alright. Just finishing up on a couple of errands before I turn in for the night. I never knew finding wool would be so hard.” 

“The fuck you need wool for?” 

“A new bed,” Dream replied, not elaborating in the slightest. Tommy narrowed his eyes slightly, making his confusion apparent. 

“Okay… That’s- I don’t know what to think about that.” 

“Then don’t think about it.” Dream began to walk past him, pausing after a few steps. “Actually, why are you up so late? I normally never see you at this time.” 

“I ran out of, uh - seeds. For my garden,” he lied. Eyeing the wooded slope to his side, he studiously ignored the other’s reaction. 

“So you went to get them? In the middle of the night?” 

“Well, I didn’t want to forget! Because if I put it off to the morning then I wouldn’t be able to start sowing right away, which would mean I would then immediately forget that I have to do it until it’s too late for the day. Then I would put it off for tomorrow, and the cycle continues. Which just isn’t fun! I wanted to be proactive and shit, you know?” 

“Uh, sure-” Even as he acquiesced, he sounded disbelieving- “I guess that makes sense. But I can say for sure that you won’t find any seeds in the plaza.” 

Tommy snapped his fingers, pretending to be disappointed. “Ah, darn. I guess I should just turn around and go searching somewhere else-” 

“Hold on there!” Dream cut off with a laugh. “I’m actually heading to the animal pens right now, and I know for a fact there’s a bunch of seeds stocked up there. Want to come with?” 

He weighed his options for a moment, considering. Obviously, he didn’t need seeds - going so far out for something he didn’t need seemed a bit too tedious. However, he would be going with Dream. 

“Sure,” he agreed. Momentarily, he could definitively say where he was. 

Dream immediately turned off the path, grass crunching underneath his feet. Because of course, he had to take a shortcut. Nevermind the fact that Tommy forgot to take a weapon and Dream didn’t appear to have one on him - no, shaving off seconds on their relatively short journey took greater importance. Or perhaps he hadn’t even considered taking the safer route. 

A part of him whimpered at how the lights became few and far between. They had turned to breadcrumbs, taunting his fragility and daring him to break. 

He focused on the slightly fatigued Dream to light his way. 

“Damn, we seriously couldn’t go the easier way? I’m getting a work out just trying to follow you,” Tommy voiced, slapping a stray branch out of his vision. 

“Why would we do that?” 

He groaned obnoxiously, stumbling to match Dream’s steps up the third hill in a series of annoying hills to climb. “Because it’s easier? What’s the point in creating good infrastructure when you don’t even use it?” 

“You all wanted that, not me-” Dream jumped over a dammed stream and chuckled as Tommy tripped- “If I had it my way we wouldn’t even have a centralized government to work on those kinds of projects.” 

“That is so nice to hear from one of the fucking members of that government-” 

“Excuse you, that is no way to talk to this town’s founder.” 

Tommy scoffed incredulously. “Yes, yes. You founded a settlement this fucking big when you were what- three? Four?” 

“Tommy.” Dream paused in his tracks, leveling what he assumed to be an unnecessarily serious stare from behind his mask. “Age is a social construct. I am the founder of this town.” 

Sharp laughter rang through the night. Hunching over and clutching his middle, Tommy couldn’t ignore how the familiar action left him slightly off-balance. 

“Sure you are, man. God, our history is so fucking weird-” 

He was cut off by a hand reaching in front of him. Dream, suddenly tense and crouching slightly, nodded to him before bringing a hand to his ear. He tried to do the same. 

Suddenly, he became aware of just how dark it had become. 

“Dream?” he whispered urgently. Even to him, his voice sounded frayed. 

“Can you hear them? The enderman?” 

He strained his ears harder, only garnering a low rumble as a result. “I, I can’t. I can’t Dream. I can’t-” 

If he couldn’t hear them, that must- that must mean they were being registered as background noise. The only place where background noise consisted of endermen was the End. That must mean- no, it can’t- he was standing barefoot on grass and grass didn’t grow in the End- 

Blessedly, a distant warble caught his attention. Just one. Not a thousand. 

“Do you have a weapon on you?” At his stuttered head shake, Dream hissed and pat down his clothes. “That’s not good. Shit. Oh my God, that’s what I forgot. I forgot to grab a fucking weapon - God I’m so dumb.” 

Tommy began to speak only to be unceremoniously hushed and pulled into a crouched position. 

“Okay, we just have to stay low and wait for it to leave. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.” 

He waited. Down, pressed into the ground and eyes trained on a faraway light - he focused on his breathing and clung to the sound of one enderman. Just one. 

A second warble met his ears, closer than the first. 

His eyes stared at Dream - only Dream - by his side as the other scanned his surroundings. If Dream was there, that meant they weren’t in the End. He only had two endermen on his hands, not thousands; thousands of bodies packed together, so close that they didn’t even care about the intruder in their midst- 

Simple words. Simple tasks. 

Task one - stay still. Task two - breathe. Task three - wait for Dream to tell him what to do. 

Two otherworldly noises rang closer, far too close for comfort. The two must have noticed them, yet the answer as to why they were aggressive went unanswered - he had barely even seen them, much less looked them in the eyes. 

A small, spherical object pressed into his palm. Dream, staring at him with resignation and uncertainty. 

“Run.” 

Just like that, Dream chucked something and disappeared. 

A dark, swirling abyss swallowed him whole. 

He had a job to do. 

His vision sharpened as instincts slotted into place. He knew what to do - get to the towers and destroy them one by one. Yet when he scanned himself he realized he was lacking most of his pearls or his axe; perhaps he had dropped them into the void, or simply lost them on his way there. But he needed pearls. At least, more than one. 

Searching for the sound of wingbeats, he focused on finding endermen to kill.

Of course, he somehow took refuge in the one place with only two. Which was fine. In the grand scheme of things, five pearls weren’t enough - but it would certainly get him through one tower and help him while he looked for more. 

One to his right, another on an incline a sizable distance away. 

No wing beats. He pushed himself up and ran. 

His fist met the creature’s stomach, its skin slightly textured and unnervingly cool. Its wail hurt in a way he didn’t expect, yet the assurance of previous experience kept it from being too jarring. Previous experience also told him to duck. Which he did. 

An unhinged jaw bit at where his head once was. 

Taking advantage of its vulnerable position, he grabbed at its neck before swiftly moving under its arm. He used the momentum to swing up, squeezing his arms together to trap its arm and head in an undoubtedly uncomfortable lock. He squeezed, attempting to gain an advantage as it thrashed wildly in his grip. If it was smart, it would teleport. 

He plunged his fingers into its eyes before it could. 

One down, another to go. 

He rushed towards the second one before sliding to the right, right leg kicking low with the intent to stomp. A part of him wondered why he didn’t have any shoes on - the rest of him decided he had better things to focus on. 

Long, spindly arms thrust towards his head. Were he in a calmer state of mind, he would have likened them to tentacles or seaweed. Something unnatural, malicious. Instead, he grabbed at both and pulled down, slamming his head into its jaw. 

His arm shot up, fingers raking into the endermen’s unguarded face. He continued with this action blindly, scratching and burrowing until the creature’s shrill screams cut short and soft flesh went limp. 

With four pearls and a few oozing shards resting in his shaking hands, he zeroed in on the huge tower in the distance. Vaguely, he felt hot slices against his arms and chest. Maybe those fights were a bit less one-sided. 

The pillar was far - unnervingly far, the farthest he had needed to travel for one of them - and that long a trek would leave him unguarded for a bit too long. 

With a running step, he threw one of his new pearls. The void, the displacement, the shifting ground beneath him - it all felt so natural, like he had become a part of it. 

Like this was the only place he fit. 

He did, after all, literally gain a part of it. 

He landed in a crouch, feet moving lightly to ensure he didn’t fall through. Elytra, so acquainted with its home turf, fluttered out for added stability. As feather and metal bobbed in his peripheral vision, he sprinted forward; he avoided the floating rocks, the low wooden fences, and the long uncanny legs with practiced efficiency. His chest burned. 

Then, he heard it. Large, thunderous wing beats, approaching from behind. 

With a slam he landed against the side of the obsidian tower, breath escaping him in terrified gasps. He furiously shuffled through his bag, grabbing at stone before immediately building it around him. A little shelter. Just for him. 

The wing beats disappeared. Resting the back of his head against stone, he prepared for the vulnerable scale up. 

“-mmy-” 

His mind raced as he thought of ways to explode the crystal at the summit. Without his axe, he would need to use something else. Maybe a rock? 

“-ommy-” 

If he threw a rock, he could probably get out of the blast radius quick enough. That, however, had never been the problem - with both teleportation and Elytra, he not only had escape routes but an option between two. He hesitated at the idea of using the thing against his back. It- he- 

That didn’t matter. What mattered was the amount of force necessary to make it explode, and whether a rock held enough- 

“Tommy!” 

He turned to his side and saw a blank mask staring down at him. When had he been sitting? And, more importantly, why was Dream here? 

Dream, a person of grass and wood and sky - how could he exist in the End, a place where only a person of purple wings and shaking hands could live? 

“Tommy, I need you to work with me. You aren’t there. You aren’t there.” 

He didn’t understand the words. Maybe he had been gone so long he could no longer speak any human tongue - perhaps that’s what God had always planned for him. A warm pressure settled on his hands. 

“Here, feel this. It’s brick, not obsidian. You aren’t there, Tommy. You’re home.” 

His hands moved against his wishes, palms pressing onto the tower behind him. Vaguely, he realized he had closed his eyes. 

Against his fingers, the obsidian felt weird. He expected a harsh, strikingly-smooth surface that carried the inexplicable feeling of imminent harm. He got hard, textured stone which dipped in recognizable patterns. 

His eyes shot open. 

Stone brick. The same stone brick used in their watchtowers. A material which did not exist in the End. 

He looked down at the hands holding his before looking up into their owner’s eyes. A blank mask with a simple smile met him - a mask he had only seen on one person, someone he knew very well. 

Realization and self-hatred ripped through him as his mind shut down. 

*** 

Dream was pressing circles into his arm and shoulder when he became conscious of himself. They were in the bones of his make-shift shelter, the walls mined out to reveal the natural outside world. Frustration and exhaustion fought far away from him, yet exhaustion won the battle and his heavy eyelids closed. 

He was just so, fucking, tired. 

“Did you set up any torches in the End?” Dream asked softly. He weakly shook his head, the sensation of stone rolling against his skull taking up most of his depleted concentration. 

The hand on his shoulder disappeared. Outside his blind eyes, he heard dirt breaking and the beginnings of sparks. 

“Here, focus on the lights.” 

He did. 

Dream repositioned and shuffled through his bag while he squinted at the four new flames. They winked and danced in his vision, their movements oddly soothing. Most importantly, they weren’t dark. Weren’t the void. 

“Eat this.” 

Simple words, simple tasks. 

He numbly grabbed the golden apple to his face, mouth opening only slightly for a bite. 

“It’s okay, take your time,” Dream said quickly. “You- you got pretty roughed up when you took on those endermen. There’s no rush.” 

In a slow movement, he looked down at the cuts and scratches settled into his bare skin. Inexplicably, his sweater had been shifted to pool around his torso; he didn’t remember doing that, even having time to do that. His fatigued lips rested against the apple. 

Muffled behind the food, he pulled in enough energy to finally speak. “I thought-” he paused heavily- “I thought I did a clean job.” 

The soothing circles on his hand pressed harder. “You did a good job. It was just- God, I’m not sure how to explain it- a bit savage. You were brutal. Deadly, but brutal.” 

He grinned slightly. Hesitantly, he took a bite and chewed. Dream seemed satisfied with this, letting a silence stretch between them as his wounds steadily healed. 

His eyes slid closed again, sleep fogging his mind and lulling him down. He was tired, so irritatingly tired, and he would rather ignore all his problems and rest than confront what his mind just fucking pulled on him. Like a blanket, the promise of sleep pressed against his fogged nerves. 

Then, he looked up. Only darkness, darkness that pulled him well outside the threshold of passing out without evaporating his exhaustion entirely.

A low, broken groan left his lips. 

“God man, I just want to fucking sleep,” he rasped. If he slept, morning would come. With the morning came a new day, new senses, refreshed mind - all of the good stuff that everyone raved about. He needed that. 

“Do you want me to bring you back to your house?” 

He felt the urge to nod his head and wrap his arms around something - of course, it translated to a quick declining shake. “Won’t do nothing, Big D. Unless you can suddenly make it day time or knock me the fuck out, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” 

Dream hummed, breaking the contact and retreating to sit by his side. He fiddled with the sleeves green and white hoodie as neither of them spoke. Tommy didn’t even feel much when his hand was released - just another drop in the ocean of emptiness he was currently swimming in. At least he felt floaty. 

Hah. Floaty. 

He suppressed the emotional tug telling him to grimace and cradled his apple delicately. 

“How did you know?” He finally broke the silence, utilizing his far-away curiosity to push him forward. “About the End. And how, like, it had obsidian and shit. Did you go there in your- the fuck did you call them - dream shit?” 

A knock against the stone, likely from Dream’s head. “Yeah, I have. A lot of times, actually. After a while I got the hang of getting there pretty quickly - the method was always the same, so I just focused on doing that for a while until I got it down pat. Even managed to beat the ender dragon a couple of times, actually.” 

He froze. New rage bubbled inside him, cutting sharper than anything had in a while. “What?” 

“I mean. After so long of nightly trips to new worlds, you kind of get bored of just exploring. And I didn’t know anything about the End, so.” 

“And- and you didn’t think to tell anyone about it? About the dragon? Or the portal?” 

He hadn’t thought to say anything - anything, anything at all - about what lurked behind the stronghold portal? About how it wasn’t like the stories, how it didn’t have a transportation back? About how on the ships, there- there- 

Tommy glared at the lit torches, mouth pressed into a hard line. He was too fucking tired for all the emotions he suddenly felt. 

“Shit, wait-” Dream backtracked quickly, hands flying up in haste- “I wasn’t like, actively withholding information. I just- I just didn’t know for sure.” 

“Didn’t know?” 

“Like, I don’t know. All these worlds, I never really knew whether or not I wasn’t just making them up - maybe I just get really vivid lucid dreams, who the fuck knows. None of them were ever the same, and I never found one that was just like ours. I couldn’t just up and say that our world’s End would be the same as all the ones I visited. It would be an assumption at best.” 

He considered the words, even as they slipped through his mind akin to sand through hands. Rage attempted to work his body for him, make his heart beat fast and blood run hot - yet it couldn’t. Nothing could. He felt strangely hollow, as if his emotions were perpetually leaking out of his body. 

“Okay,” he replied, mostly as an affirmation to himself. He wouldn’t fight a war for ‘what-ifs’ and ‘buts’ - at least, not today. 

Thick tension covered the air, laying over the shoulders of the body he inhabited. Silence - stretching and awkward in a way he normally would have tried to dispel - joined it. He bit into his apple and chewed. 

He pressed his head slightly further into the stone. “Did you ever meet God?”

An olive branch. A tired, broken one, but an olive branch nonetheless. 

Thankfully, Dream grabbed it. 

“What, you mean The Creator? Yeah, every time I managed to beat the dragon. Said the same thing every time though.” 

He studied the trees in the distance. “So their name is The Creator? Huh. I wonder where the fuck the word God came from.” 

“You and me both.” They fell into silence for a few moments, before- “What did The Creator say to you? Anything about like, the universe and our existence and stuff?” 

“Nah, They didn’t say anything. Just like pet me or some shit. What a weird motherfucker.” 

Dream laughed, the sound so light it lifted him up along with it.

He finished his apple. The tension snapped. 

“Okay, alright. Let’s not anger a possibly omniscient being that created everything we know.” He heard shifting at his side, likely Dream standing up and dusting his hands. “You sure you don’t want me to bring you to your house?” 

With a grin tugging at his lips, he shook his head. “Nah, man. Let’s just get your wool and my, uh, leather yeah?” 

“Seeds,” he corrected amusedly. “You were looking for seeds.” 

“That’s what I said, bitch.” 

He allowed Dream to guide him up into a standing position, flexing his toes against the crushed grass. “Yeah, you totally did. Come on, the pens are pretty close. We just have to go down this hill and we’ll be right at them.”

They walked. 

He tripped and stumbled with nearly every step, yet the ground underneath his feet was undeniably sturdy. He felt so light - so light that he could float away at any second - yet the loud steps coming right by his side kept him tethered down. He could sense the darkness crawling against his bare scars in an attempt to reclaim, yet he followed the torch in Dream’s hand as they slowly descended. 

Eventually, they made it. Lanterns bordered the perimeter, lighting the various stalls and enclosures home to sleeping animals. He had always felt a vague fondness towards the place - it exuded an aura similar to Techno’s home - and automatically felt himself drift towards the main storage building. Thankfully, Dream did the same. 

“You can sit down when we’re inside. It might take a while for me to find our shit,” Dream offered as they approached.

Tommy opened the rustic wooden doors, inhaled a large breath of farm air, and did just that. 

From his position atop a wooden chest, he watched as Dream flitted between the other chests. He worked methodically and efficiently, barely sparing enough time to glance inside one before he opened another. In the quick glimpses, he saw tools, tags, various rodent traps- 

Dream opened another chest and immediately wheezed. 

“What’s so funny? Did you find something cool, or- wait, anything blackmail-able? It’s been so long since I’ve been able to fuck shit up,” He groaned. His hands idly worked along the wood before he realized he should actually put on his sweater. 

“No no, it’s not blackmail material-” He could hear the smile in Dream’s voice- “It’s just- oh my gosh.” 

“You’re going to leave me with that? What the fuck, man. Show me!” 

Just as he threaded his second arm through his sweater, Dream reached into the chest and pulled something out. He froze. 

“Dream. What the fuck.” 

In Dream’s hands was the goofiest attempt at a stuffed animal he had ever seen. 

Gray-white and stitches doubled-over, the lopsided mess could barely be considered something with form. There had certainly been an attempt - the fact that the seams had been so carefully reinforced spoke enough - but it was obviously someone’s first-ever sewing project which they decided to throw to the animals last-minute. Yet even the animals must have neglected it. The plush showed no signs of having ever been used. 

Solemnly, Dream turned it around. Sloppily embroidered on the plush’s ‘head’ was a wide, lazy smile. 

“It’s me,” Dream announced thickly. 

Tommy burst into laughter. 

“It’s- it’s- oh my god, it absolutely fucking is you, it looks so fucking dumb,” he giggled, laughter escaping him with a force he didn’t realize he possessed. As his eyes squeezed shut from the force of his grin, he didn’t notice the way Dream’s shoulders slightly untensed. 

“How dare you insult it, it’s right here.” He followed up his statement by shoving the plush’s face straight into his, causing him to erupt in more shrieking laughter. 

“Get it the fuck away from me! Oh my God, I can’t- it looks so fucking ridiculous that I feel bad for whoever made this fucking abomination.” 

Dream scoffed, offended. “I have decided that I made it. It is now my child.” 

“You- you can’t just do that! Dream, you can’t just decide that something is your child.” 

“Fundy,” Dream replied shortly. 

Tommy rolled his eyes to the support beams overhead, poking the plush’s stomach. “Fundy’s a different case entirely. His entire family tree is fucked so we’re just not going to touch it.” 

“Okay,” A pause, then- “His name will be Dream-Two. Full name, Dream-Two The Dream Man Boy.” 

“You can’t just name your kid after yourself!” 

“Oh yeah?” Dream placed a hand on his hip, condescension rolling off him in waves. “Then what about all those ‘John Jr.’ and ‘John the Second’ people?” 

Tommy opened his mouth and closed it, any response failing him. He just shook his head and sighed loudly. With a triumphant huff, Dream dropped Dream-Two into his lap and turned away. 

“What, are you leaving me on babysitting duty? You had this kid for two seconds and you’re already neglecting it?” Tommy called out.

Dream loudly expressed his disapproval, returning to his search for wool and seeds. “Would you rather be the bread-winner for this family, Tommy? If one of us is gathering materials the other has to take care of the kid, I’m not doing both.” 

“Please don’t ever, ever, say that again.” 

Dream chuckled and they lapsed into comfortable silence. He felt some of his apathy slip away, emotions returning to mingle with his exhaustion. As he mentally righted himself, he focused on Dream-Two; with soft, very easily cuddleable features and an admittedly charming smile, it was growing on him. He poked Dream-Two’s face again. 

By the time Dream found what he was looking for, he had begun absentmindedly petting Dream-Two. 

“We’ve got what we needed, so I think it’s time to head back. I’ll drop you off, yeah?” 

“Sure,” he agreed. A part of him didn’t want his time with Dream to end. 

When they left, they followed the pre-made road - Tommy holding Dream-Two and Dream holding large bundles of wool - and bathed in the bright lights. They hobbled together, bickered lightly, and forgot about the night closing in. 

Dream left him at his front door with a wave, promising to talk again in the morning. 

Tommy fell asleep with darkness pounding against his window, Dream-Two wrapped in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I center this entire chap around Dream and the night because I thought it was funny? Not intentionally- 
> 
> Also, I have to stop making Tommy and Dream meet at night. This is the second time, why has this happened twice- 
> 
> Can you tell that I liked new L'Manburg's design but couldn't reasonably fit it in without also adding all of the war shit and explosion a n d 
> 
> But yeah hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next one will be more wing-centralized ;)


	8. Two Birds Of A Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy spends a day with Philza. 
> 
> Things... change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Breakdown, Light Dissociation, Light Sensory Overload 
> 
> aAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA omg we have fanart??? For this fic???? I am legitimately still reeling like oh my god oh my god it's so good please check them out-   
> https://twitter.com/dis4sterlesbi4n/status/1333535883761381378
> 
> Also yes I absolutely had to give this chap that title they both have fucking wings - what am I gonna do, not???

The next day, he returned Dream-Two to his rightful owner. Dream put up the show of a harried divorced father, holding Dream-Two close to his chest while spouting phrases of exaggerated concern. Obviously, Tommy refused to entertain the idea. 

The sun shone brightly along his back. He felt a lot less tired. 

Just as he had turned to walk away from the doting parent, Dream had dropped a large bag of seeds in his hands. He had also done a quick once over, an unanswered question stretching between them. When Tommy slightly nodded his head, Dream seemed to relax. Only then did he turn to leave. 

“By the way, Philza wants you to come over tomorrow. He said that he wants to hand over some old clothes and spend a bit of personal time. Be prepared to spend the whole day.” 

He parted ways, went on with his day, and fell asleep next to Tubbo. 

He woke up to another bright morning. After pulling on Philza’s robe shirt - with only two shirts that fit, he had taken to alternating every two days - he grabbed his mostly empty bag and began the trek to Philza’s house. 

The large, large entranceway to Philza’s home intimidated him slightly. Of course, being on someone’s stolen horse helped a little bit. 

“Whose horse is that?” He jumped, glancing to the side to see Phil standing up from the bushes. He looked to be thriving in his self-made mansion, grin content and unhurried. 

“The fuck if I know,” Tommy snapped back. “I just found him roped up so I, uh, borrowed him for the trip.”

Phil hummed noncommittally, walking over easily before grabbing the nametag tethered to his saddle. “He’s a she, actually. Her name is Bonemeal, what a weird name - oh, and she’s Sapnap’s, isn’t that good for you?”

“I don’t give a shit who she belonged to, Sapnap especially,” He slid off her back and onto the ground. “Besides, it would be better off if I took her away from him. She’s actually a really good horse - I would hate for her to die.” 

“Don’t say that!” Phil admonished, grin still present. He grabbed her reins firmly before heading towards the modest stall he had built for this type of occasion. 

“What, that Sapnap won’t kill her? He killed Henry after one week! Now that I think about it, we should ban him from owning any animals on the grounds of animal abuse. No, scratch that- we should ban him from the town entirely.” 

“We are not going to do that!” 

“We absolutely are!” 

Philza reappeared with near-inhuman speed, his long strides sending Tommy into an off-balance gait. He continued to argue his stance, focusing so hard on his words that he nearly didn’t notice when they entered his home. 

“Okay, okay, stop talking about what you would do to Sapnap were he in front of you right now,” Philza finally interrupted, hands up and smile relaxed. “Do you mind waiting here for a moment? I left my old clothes upstairs in a sack - I’m sorry about that, by the way, I didn’t have anything else to put them in.” 

“It makes no difference to me,” Tommy replied bluntly. He ushered Phil away, leaving him alone in the spacious entrance room. 

No matter how many times Tommy visited, Philza’s house would never stop looking so big. 

It wasn’t lifeless and minimalistic - quite the opposite, actually - yet the insanely high roofs perched atop the occasional spruce beam gave an effective illusion of grandeur. He could see all three floors from the entrance, the third only reachable by a last-minute ladder from the second. Memories of hiding in the crannies between the roof and that floor’s furniture flashed through his mind. Yet when he thought of it, thousands of possible hiding spots burst into fruition - Philza’s wintery designs meant wooden furniture scattered the layout in comfortably cramped chaos. 

The dark spruce wood and grey stone accents reminded him of his little tundra town. His hands suddenly felt empty - slightly cold. 

Philza reappeared on the second floor’s balcony, a large sack in tow. Seeing him up so high, only a measly retractable bar away from plummeting to his death-

“Catch!” Phil shouted loudly. 

With a thud, the soft bag sent him plummeting to the floor. 

“Oh my God. That- I’m not even sorry, that was fucking hilarious,” Phil wheezed. Tommy shoved the weight off his face to see him quickly descending the stairs. In retaliation, he stuck his tongue out. 

Philza, the bastard, simply laughed harder. 

“You could have killed me! You could have killed me just like how Sapnap kills his pets!” He ranted, pleased to see his friend’s elated reaction. “How do you like that, huh? Do you want to be similar to Sapnap in any way, shape, or form?” 

“Sapnap’s nice,” Phil defended. 

“Oh yeah, he was really nice when he decided that pet sitting duty meant euthanizing all the animals under his care.” 

Phil made it down the stairs only to grip the railing as he stood. “Stop, holy fuck-” 

“I’ll stop when Henry comes back, Philza. So you can’t really stop me. What are you going to do, resurrect him? Are you going to defy the laws of nature to undo the extent of Shitnap’s sins?” 

Phil’s chest arrested for a short moment. Then - while Tommy began to panic as to whether he went a bit too far - he exploded into screeching laughter, the action leaving him half-crumbled against the stairs. Tommy eventually joined in, the situation devolving into a mess of hilarity and choking. The lightness of his laugh didn’t align with the weight on his spine. 

Eventually, Phil calmed to a point where he could push the bag to the side and pull him up. With a steady hand on Tommy’s shoulder, he led him further into the house. 

“Wait, what about the clothes-” Tommy cut himself off, glancing back at the forgotten sack by the door. 

“Awe, forget about them,” Phil waved away, smoothly walking into the living room - even positioned under the second floor, the ceiling stretched wonderfully above his head. “We have all day, yeah? You can pick them up when you head back.”

With a slight nod, Tommy followed. “Ah, okay.” 

Phil continued to steer him through his house, the hand on his shoulder never wavering. He eventually settled on ushering him onto the plush couch, leaving as soon as he was settled to flit around the kitchen.

“You look hungry. Let me make you some tea, just for some peace of mind.” 

Tommy nodded again, studying the bookshelves and windows currently in his sight. 

“What do you want to do today?” He called out, hoping his voice would carry. Philza re-entered his vision with a clatter, two steaming mugs in his hands. 

“Nothing much. I just want to catch up a bit.” 

He could feel himself grinning brightly, the soft lightness he had come to associate with Philza melting up his bloodstream. His hands wrapped around the warm ceramic mug pressed into them - he saw Phil do the same, his form a blur of loose green as he sat down on the other edge of the couch. 

Philza sat up slightly, half extending his wings in a large stretch before resettling them closed. 

He ignored the irrational giddiness that came from having large feathers swallow his vision. 

“What do you want to start with then?” He began, grabbing a biscuit from Phil’s hand to keep himself occupied. With a bit of wriggling, he positioned himself to be firmly crammed into the sofa’s corner and facing Phil. 

A grin. “Mate, it’s been four months. I’ve only gotten the summarized version of your time alone - like, what, two sentences?” 

“Same as everyone else got,” he snarked under his breath. Phil chuckled lightly, his sleeve rolling down his forearm as he brushed away a stray hair. 

For a moment, he hoped to see falling snow when he looked outside. The pillowy white would have really tied the scene together. 

“Trust me - if everyone knew you were okay with getting asked, you would be taking a fuck-ton of days off. And I mean loads. One per person, at least.” 

“Aw, the town wants to know about little-ol’ me!” He grinned suspiciously before bringing the mug to his lips and drinking. “I should get on that - thank you for the tea, by the way, it’s really nice - and abuse it to the max.”

Phil shook his head slowly, chuckling. “God, I can’t even with you. Just tell me about your travels, bud, not about how you plan to exploit our friends.” 

Seeing as he respected Phil, he did. 

He began with what he had already told the others on the first day back - the kidnapping, the getting lost, the last town. With a bit of prodding, he divulged a few more details of his time away from home. Phil seemed to enjoy the times he went off-track the most; his most energized reaction had been to one of his stories of Silje, a recounting of when she taught him how to ice-fish. 

It felt nice to reminisce. The memories of his town - even his time wandering alone - were fresh, but they were still fond. He enjoyed going back on them, reliving them. Somewhere along the line, he flashed back to when he had done the very same thing, just with his stories from home. 

By the time he got to the point where he had finished all his preparations to find the stronghold, his mug had been emptied and refilled twice. His stomach also felt pleasantly full - he blamed his mindless snacking and Phil’s encouraging gestures. 

Phil had shifted considerably over the duration of his tales - now, he sat with his closed wings draped over the sofa’s armrest, legs tucked in a crossed position. His soft smile - although shrinking at certain times - had never vanished. 

“So, it’s the beginning of spring and you’re prepared to leave. And then what?” 

“Well-” His voice cracked, the tea doing little to soothe its overuse- “I said my last goodbye and I got home.” 

“Through the End, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Phil shot him a sympathetic glance, his already open posture softening even more. “Do you mind talking about it? You were there for a solid chunk of a month, yeah, so I don’t think it’s something you should just glaze over. Besides, I’ve never heard of someone who went to the End.” 

Tommy shakily fiddled with the mug in his hands, focusing on the soft cushion underneath his legs. From the stiffness in his back, he knew he had already stiffened up - as his limbs went numb and chest heated up, he knew he had already begun to panic. Thick fog began to reclaim his extremities, his neck. 

He focused on the frustration welling in him to keep himself firmly whole. 

It should be fine. He should be able to talk about it. It was just a little battle, a little escapade, a little thing of the past. 

He wasn’t there anymore. He should be able to treat it like a memory. 

“The End was-” His voice rang out hesitantly, the thing trembling and catching at the edges- “It was- a thing.” 

His sharp laughter did little to assuage the worry in Philza’s brow. “Go on.” 

“It- it sucked.” With a shuddering breath, he immediately became aware of how, if he talked about it, he would surely break down. 

Although he loved Phil, he wasn’t sure if he loved him enough to do that in front of him. 

Phil, though, seemed intent on making that happen. 

“It’s okay,” He soothed softly. “Go at your own pace, bud. I’m right here.” 

A bitter giggle escaped his lips.

Everything inside him screamed to stop talking altogether - the End deserved to wither and die inside him, never shared with anyone else. It deserved to crumble, to shatter, to be forgotten. It deserved to be locked within the deepest trenches of his mind - maybe then, he could pretend it never existed at all. 

Yet the words came bubbling out of him, his mouth loose from the hours already spent talking. They tumbled and shattered in his throat, so ready to be spilled - damnit, a part of him wanted to share, and Phil was looking so expectant-

He quickly glanced around the room, eyes jumping from the pictures to the trinkets to the windows. Terror clawed at his tenuous grasp to his own body.

“The End was very, uh, dark. You could barely see anything - think the night, but without the stars or clouds; it was all just an endless void. I had to depend on the eyes of endermen to light shit up - there were a fuckton of those, by the way. So many.” 

Small things. Easy things. Phil nodded in assurance, his hands coming up before falling to his lap. 

“You- you had to watch your step. The ground was made of rock, but not like our rock. If you stood on it for too long or too hard, it would fall right through. Seeing as basically all there was, well- was a bunch of those kinds of rocks floating around, falling through meant- uh, it meant death,” He laughed loudly and felt himself flake. 

“There was a-” His hands waved through the air, jerking and sporadic- “A big, big dragon that I thought was God. It flew around these obsidian towers, which healed it. I- I had to destroy them all to kill it. Which I did, by the way - I did kill it.” 

Phil’s smile faded. He looked as if he was preparing to move, to do something. Pressure built against his chest, against his eyes, against the tether holding him down- 

“I had to scale the towers and destroy these cube things that healed it. They were really bright - it felt like I was being electrocuted, you know? Just being near them- just being near them felt like being electrocuted.” 

“Tommy-” 

“They exploded when I hit them.” 

His voice sounded too small, too panicked - all he could focus on was the cuff of Phil’s shirt, the green swarming his vision as his very atoms split apart, psyche and body ripping at the seams- 

The tether snapped. 

Suddenly, he could feel everything. 

A layer of himself - a fogged layer he didn’t even notice existed - had managed to peel away, leaving a fresh skin to sense and feel and touch. Emotions - emotions so bright and burning that he couldn’t hold them in his hands - shifted from inside him to on his skin, phasing between the border in a way he didn’t understand. Light - soft light, light Phil left dim so he wouldn’t strain his eyes - strobed against him, intermingling with the scent of lacquer and burned wood against his tongue- 

“The first time I didn’t know,” He rambled on, feeling taking control of his words. “I was caught off-guard. It hurt a lot, so much, nearly the worst I had felt before then.” 

His fingers were raking lines into the cushion, his mug resting firm in his lap. The feeling of the soft material clashed with the singing heat burning into his chest. 

A sort of mania overwhelmed him, the thoughts in his mouth leaving tainted by their touch. “It was shit- I- didn’t like it, at all. But I didn’t have a bow, so I had to do it all again. I used pearls. They hurt. They hurt as well.” 

“Tommy,” Phil interrupted, seeming more like he wanted to speak than to give an order. He could only focus on one eye at a time, the rest of Phil’s face unfocusing and slipping away. 

“I managed to do alright, you know,” He breathed in and breathed out the rushing in his ears. “I got all of them down eventually. But the second one- during the second one-” 

The smell of corrosion and his own burning flesh invaded his lungs, the scent blinding him as- 

With his mind and body so painfully, completely aligned, he felt the full extent of the acid against his back. 

It burned and battered against his spine, the agony exploding fresh as the day in his memories. He felt it all - he felt the hot searing waves that rolled from his shoulder blades over his head and eyes, he felt everything burn together into one overwhelming sensation, he felt the cushion push back against the balls of his feet- 

Strangely, it only happened in one part of him. The rest of him stayed settled in reality - the rest of him could speak. 

One part of him was dying, the other part of him was holding a casual conversation. 

“The second one, the dragon got to me,” He choked out, vaguely comprehending through the meld of himself and his past. “It had acid-breath, and it got my back. God, it hurt so much. My skin, like, it was just so bad. And it didn’t even heal right- it’s fucking purple man, I have no idea why it’s purple-” 

His brain focused on the corner of a low wooden table. His brain focused on shoving his hand down his shirt to pull the collar back and reveal. His brain focused on the shuddering, spiking waves that emanated from his back and submerged the back of his head. 

“Shit man,” Philza replied softly. His brain focused on a strand of blond hair clinging to the man’s forehead. 

“Yeah, it sucked,” The sensation of air rushing down his nose overwhelmed his mind before fluctuating again to the very very back - in its stead, the brush of his pants against his outer thigh. 

“That’s when I knew I had to get out of there- I- I- used another pearl to teleport onto a passing ship. Which is fucking strange, I never knew the End had ships and shit.” 

“I’ve heard stories,” Philza murmured quietly. “They talked about vertical cities and weird rock monsters.” 

Tommy hummed and felt a wave of burning wax swell before lowering again. “I- I know one of those things are true. The rock monsters exist, they were on the ship. Three of them. I killed them. Killed them a lot.” 

“I bet you did.” Phil seemed closer now - when he glanced at his black sweats, they took up more of his vision. 

“I did, I did,” He uttered. “On the ship I found Elytra, I found Elytra and-” 

He was feeling it all. He didn’t have a buffer. 

“It attached to me. I was dumb and stuck it right where it could get at me, and now it’s there and-” 

The fog had been shielding him. It had to have been. He couldn’t feel all this shame, this disgust, this hatred, this wrong - it was overflowing, he couldn’t contain it, it was filling his entire head, it was too much, too much, too much- 

“I don’t want it, Phil.” It sounded soft, too soft. 

“I don’t want it,” He repeated. 

“I don’t want it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it-” 

He needed to say it, again and again and again. He needed to scream until he bled to etch the world with his truth. He needed someone, anyone, to know even a fraction of what he felt. 

“Toms, come here, come here, fuck-” 

Firm hands grabbed his forearms and uncurled him into a wall of darkness. It stayed still as he shuddered, as waves upon waves of unfiltered sensation pounded through his head, through his eyes, through his chest and his neck and his fingers- 

The feeling of cloth against his face rubbed against the smell of black tea clashed against the acid burning trails into his arms clung alongside the machinery under skin- 

He couldn’t do anything to bring his senses back, bring himself back, bring the fucking disconnect back that shielded him so well- 

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here with me in my home. You’re here-” 

The feeling of damp wetness around his eyes. He- he-

The feeling of fabric wrapped around his fingers. He must- he must be-

The feeling of his own chest rising and falling erratically. He must be breathing.

Somehow, he focused on only that. 

He breathed in slowly, sharply, and let the rattling noise overtake his mind. A few more breaths and he remembered that breathing was important in this situation. 

A conscious thought. That’s new. 

With another few he remembered how to level out his respiration. He shuddered, forcing himself to focus only on keeping his breaths deep and slow. 

“There you go, that’s it. Match my breathing Toms, you got this-” 

The rest of the sensations faded away, his own gasps the victor in the fucked up battle royal. With everything dialed back, he could breathe easier - he could match the breaths coming from in front of him, now that he could feel them. His breaths followed the rhythm, hitching only slightly at the end. 

“Are you with me, Toms?” 

At last, the waves of all-encompassing awareness receded. 

He was being pressed into Phil’s chest. He was holding onto Phil’s shirt. He was on a couch. He was breathing. 

“I’m here,” He whispered roughly, voice still thick. “I’m here.” 

The comforting blackness shifted, Phil clinging tighter around him. “Okay. Okay. Easy there. I’m going to keep on hugging until you feel a bit more composed, okay?” 

He nodded into his shirt, leaning in with the invitation. As he focused on his breathing and reassembled himself, he realized that he could stay in Phil’s arms for eternity and be perfectly content. Phil began to comb his fingers through his hair. 

His insides felt overwhelmingly drained - like he lost thousands of pounds digging into his body - yet he couldn’t imagine himself disliking it. He shuddered occasionally and his face could use a tissue or three, but all of the sharp, stabbing emotions which he so vigilantly ignored had filtered away. 

Really, he felt good. Great, even. 

New. 

“I steered the ship around and got back to the main island,” He finished, talking loud enough to overcome the muffling barrier. “I got to the dragon, and I-I killed it. Then I jumped into the portal and finally made it home.”

“Thank you for telling me.” 

Tommy lost track of time inside Phil’s arms - the soothing fingers in his hair and the steady breaths making him shift ever so slightly becoming his entire world. He could feel a soothing calm wash over him. 

It didn’t numb, but it relaxed him nonetheless. 

“Would you like some more tea?” Phil finally said. Tommy reluctantly nodded before releasing his grip. 

Phil gently extracted himself from the hug, his movements tender as he left Tommy alone on the couch. He used that time to wipe at his eyes and mouth - he must look like a mess, he realized, as his sleeve quickly became damp with his own tears. The realization was nullified by the fact that he could now see everything in his vision. 

A mug pressed into his hands again, the same one from before. Phil settled by his side - now, if he extended his legs, they would stretch across Phil’s lap. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, not entirely sure as to why he said it. Phil immediately looked up from his cup, face stricken. 

“Don’t apologize, mate. I’m just happy that you finally told someone.” 

“Yeah, but that- that was a lot,” He laughed, running a hand through his hair before slamming his lips against his cup. “I didn’t expect that, at all. Like Jesus fuck.” 

Phil rubbed his knee, eyes boring into his and making him painfully aware of his own state. “How are you feeling?” 

“Light. Whole. Kind of like myself, but like before the End. I didn’t even know I wasn’t feeling this way until like right now.” He busied himself with taking a large gulp of warm liquid. 

Phil merely hummed in response, the hand on his knee traveling up to ruffle at his hair. A small grin pulled at his face. 

Tommy leveled a mock-suspicious glare, letting the weight on his head stay. “God, I actually feel pretty good. You planned all this, didn’t you?” 

“I asked for you to come over-” His grin grew fonder- “And when you talked, I listened. I can hardly call myself a scheming bitch for doing that.” 

Phil readjusted his hand and lightly pulled forward. Tommy - being the big man that he was - gladly followed the movement until his forehead rested against the side of Phil’s chest. An arm settled around his shoulders. 

“It’s good to let it all out, you know,” Phil spoke quietly. 

Tommy shifted, attempting to look up and failing. “Huh?” 

“You should talk about it, acknowledge it - it’s not good to let it sit there and fester. The first time I went on a dangerous trip, I didn’t talk about it for months. I just struggled with it, on my own - I didn’t let anyone know, and in return, I never knew if it was completely over. My mind kept playing dirty tricks. 

“The first time is always the hardest,” He continued, voice so low it barely reached his ears. “Always. Bad shit happens. Mental breaks happen. One time, my weapons had to be confiscated because I kept on trying to fight everyone. It wasn’t pretty. But I had to get through it, or else I would never move on.” 

Tommy sat in silence for a few moments, letting the hand tracing light patterns into his shirt resonate under his skin. An occasional sniffle broke his rhythmic thoughts. 

“Does it- am I stuck like this? Stuck just fighting myself, struggling to fucking live?” 

Phil tucked him further under his arm. “Not forever. I’m not going to lie and say it’s easy, or that it will ever fully be gone. But things will change. Things will change.” 

Despair crawled up his sides, coming on so sharp it stung his eyes. “But I- I don’t want to be like this. I- I didn’t ask for this, why do I fucking have to fight to just get back-” 

“I know, I know,” Phil shushed. “You didn’t want it, I get that. It’s fucking bullshit, it really is. But please, please trust me when I tell you that you’ll never be back to before you began to get help. It sure as fuck will feel like it sometimes, but there will always be changes separating you from back then. Things will change.” 

In the moment, all he could smell was the scent of spruce wood and fragrant black tea. He felt whole, felt like himself. 

“Things will change, Toms. And I’ll be right there by your side.” 

*** 

He eventually settled down completely, the late afternoon sun hitting his face as he and Phil sat in comfortable conversation. For someone who had cried just an hour before, Tommy’s idle chatter and relaxed smile did little to show his previous turmoil. Philza had taken to whittling a stick for no good reason. 

With a clatter, Phil dropped his newly sharpened stick and knife onto the low table, using the motion to propel him into standing. 

“-And that’s why I gutted it- you good Philza?” 

Phil waved him away, hands coming to his hips as his back bowed. “I’m fine, I’ve just been sitting for a while. Need a bit of a stretch. Yeah, normally I’d be doing a little routine right now - when my wings stay closed for too long they become a fucking bitch.” 

“Oh, okay,” He responded, eyes moving to the door. “Have fun.” 

“Would you like to join me?” 

Tommy snorted as Phil paused a few paces from the entrance. “Philza, I literally just got done having a fucking breakdown over it- Elytra, sorry. What do you think?” 

“I know, no pressure.” Phil lifted his hands in surrender. “But it can’t be good to have them closed like that all the time. You feel good, yeah? Now’s a good time to show yourself that you have control over it.”

Tommy hummed in consideration. He did in fact feel good - the bubbling, warm light in his chest proof enough. Besides, his back had gotten rather stiff over the previous days, his spine popping with nearly every movement. 

“I’ll be right there, guiding you,” Phil added on gently. 

“Ah, screw it. I’m coming, dumbass, wait up.” With a heavy sigh, he flung himself over the couch and to Philza’s side. Phil merely grinned as he toed on his shoes and opened the door. After they made it a sizable distance away from the house, he stopped.

“Let’s start easy, yeah?” 

“Easy is for cowards,” He quipped, scuffing his shoe on the stone path. 

“Then we’re cowards.” Phil cracked his knuckles before adjusting his stance. “So first, we’re going to do a very simple stretch. It’s honestly a bit instinctual, this one. 

“What you have to do is - how do I describe it - you just, like, lean over a bit and stretch out one wing at a time. Fully.” Phil demonstrated, smoothly bending down and extending his left wing. He stayed there for a few moments, wing shaking slightly, before closing it again. 

“Why can’t I do both at the same time?” 

A snort. “You’ll fall, Tommy, that’s why.” 

“I’m going to do both.” 

“Tommy-” 

Ignorant to Phil’s cries, he bent down at a somewhat awkward angle and imagined Elytra completely extended. For a few glorious moments, content rolled from Elytra’s joints into his skin - the sensation so completely satisfying that he didn’t notice the ground rushing to his face. 

As he fell for the second time that day, Phil wheezed with loud laughter. 

“Oh my god, you fucking child-” He pulled himself up, abashedly dusting his hands on his pants- “I literally told you that your balance would be shit, what did you expect-” 

“I thought it would work!” He countered, only to be silenced by more laughter. Eventually, Phil cut himself off with a grin.

“Fine, fine. Try again. This time, just one wing, not both.” 

He did as he was told. 

Damn, it felt pretty great. 

If he detached himself from the circumstances, he knew he would be stretching them out a lot more often. The pleasant tingling reminded him of completely extending his arms after a long day of work - except, with Elytra, the feeling came tenfold. With a light sigh, he retracted them. 

Phil was staring at him with indiscernible eyes. 

“Uh, everything good Big P?” He asked, watching as Phil startled back into reality with a shake. 

“Yeah, yeah- uh. Do you mind extending Elytra again? Just for a moment?” 

Now fully standing, he did as he was told. Phil shuffled a few steps before mirroring the action, his focus squarely on where their wings ended. 

Tommy burst into peals of laughter. Phil put his head in his hands. 

“I can’t believe it, holy fuck-” Tommy retracted Elytra, clutching at his middle- “You’ve been outclassed by a minor with fake fucking wings, Philza, how do you feel?” 

Phil didn’t respond. He seemed to be replaying the image in his head - Elytra and his wings splayed out, Elytra stretching a considerable distance farther. 

“This is the worst thing that could have ever fucking happened,” He finally said. Tommy responded by laughing even harder. 

“That’s it, I’m kicking you out for the day.” Phil looked only semi-serious as he spoke, already turning to head back into his house. “I will not be disrespected like this, on my own fucking property no less.” 

“Ah yeah, it is getting pretty late, isn’t it?” He looked up at the sky, noticing how it bled orange at the seams. 

Philza hummed an affirmative, poking his head in through the door before tossing the sack from the morning outside. “It is. Here, I’ll grab Bonemeal from the stable and you can be on your merry way. I’d rather you get home before nightfall.” 

He nodded, watched Phil disappear around the bend, and opened the bag for a cursory view. Right at the top was a small brooch of a feather, the silver metal cool and barely measuring his finger. 

A smile stretched across his face. 

He pinned the feather on his green bandana - which he most definitely did not make out of Tubbo’s old shirt - and let giddiness bubble up his neck. 

When Phil arrived back with Bonemeal in tow, his grin widened at the new flashing accessory. He wordlessly handed over the lead before pulling him into a firm hug. 

“I’m proud of you. You did good today.” 

Tommy nodded into Phil’s shoulder, desperately attempting to blink away the sudden heat behind his eyes. 

As he rode in the direction of the setting sun, he felt inexplicably, wonderfully whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehehehehe we went too long without a mental breakdown so obviously, I had to do it- 
> 
> Love Philza so much, the dude works so well with the hard-hitting comedy peeps like Toms. Like he's so underappreciated?? How?? He's frankly amazing??? And yes I gave him what basically equates to a winter cabin screw you, it fits him
> 
> I am also having a great time ending every chapter with Tommy getting a New Thing in his Collection Of Things That Remind Him Of His Friends 
> 
> But yeah rip lol hope you enjoy?? Idk??? I've realized that I can't tell the quality of my own work so-


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